I BET ON LOSING DOGS. ☽ — I KNOW THEY'RE LOSING AND I'LL PAY FOR MY PLACE BY THE RING. ☽ — WHERE I'LL BE LOOKING IN THEIR EYES, WHEN THEY'RE DOWN. ... I'LL BE THERE ON THEIR SIDE... I'M ˡᵒˢⁱⁿᵍ BY THEIR SIDE.
A ᵖRIVATE MULTI-MUSE WRITTEN BY ᴹᴬᴿᴬ — HIGHLY SELECTIVE, MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE. NOT FRIENDLY TOWARDS NON-MUTUALS. NSFW CONTENT WARNING. TRIGGERS SUCH AS VIOLENCE, WAR, TRAUMA, WILL BE EXPLORED. DO NOT INTERACT WITH ME IF YOU ARE ZIONIST OR ISLAMOPHPOBIC. EQUALLY, DO NOT INTERACT WITH ME IF YOU USE PROBLEMATIC FACECLAIMS. FOREVER MARRIED TO @DUSKLUNE , @FLYFALCONS , @ARCHESTYPE , AND @FOLKPOET
CANON CHARACTERS : ALWAYS.
higurashi kagome [ INUYASHA. ]
haruno sakura [ NARUTO. ]
lexie grey. [ GREYS ANATOMY. ]
PRIVATE MUSES : ONLY REQUEST IF I HAVE GIVEN YOU PERMISSION.
a girl shifted in the heart of an organized crime family after the murder of her family by fire. a brilliant mind, taken & lied to as a child until she’s become the supposed heir. biography available on file.
AMIR JACE LAURENT. INSPIRED BY ORGANIZED CRIME. [ FC: FABIEN FRANKEL. ] HE/HIM.
boygenius, extremely talented phd student at harvard with a debt to the mafia. the eldest child, a heart of gold but forced to work for a crime family that attempted to take over his family’s restaurant. see here for a full biography.
NOOR SALEEM. INSPIRED BY GREYS ANATOMY. [ FC: ALIA BHATT. ] SHE/HER.
under the pediatric surgery fellowship at seattle grace mercy west hospital, the daughter of the infamous dr. abdul saleem, convinced for a famous medical malpractice suit. biography available on file.
CLARA SOLARIA. INSPIRED BY FANTASY. FC: TBA. SHE/HER.
the duchess of a military nation, despite her sheltered upbringing, she possesses a strong sense of justice and secretly questions the oppressive systems that sustain her family’s power. with her knack for strategy and a heart that yearns for peace, clara often finds herself torn between loyalty to her family and her desire to bring about change. her journey is one of self-discovery, as she navigates the treacherous waters of politics, war, and her own moral compass.
ROSALIND BLACKWOOD. INSPIRED BY FANTASY. FC TBA. SHE/HER
princess rosalind was but a child when an enemy regime took over, killing her parents and brothers. since then she's been raised as the true heir to the throne of klein, hidden as a soldier when the military topples the royal family with the nickname “petra” : but following the fall of the military & chaos, her throne is reinstated during the war, in chaos. biography available on file.
CLARISSA DAMARIS. INSPIRED BY FANTASY. TBA. DIANE KRUGER
clarissa, a seer cursed by the gods with visions of the future, lives a life caught between reverence and rejection. as the emperor’s daughter, her lineage demands loyalty and strength, but her gift isolates her from those she is meant to protect. much like cassandra of greek myth, her prophecies go unheard, her warnings dismissed, leaving her to watch helplessly as fate unfolds. she walks the line between despair and defiance, determined to carve her own path in a world that sees her as both divine and damned.
FORTUNA. TAKEN FROM GLADIATOR 2 BECAUSE ITS ANTI-PALESTINIAN AND THEY CUT HER OUT. SHE/HER. FC: MAY CALAMAWY.
fortuna, a name whispered with equal parts reverence and fear, is a woman forged in the fires of rome’s unforgiving arenas. once a slave, she rose to prominence as a gladiatrix, her skill with a blade rivaling even the most seasoned fighters. known for her calculated precision and unyielding resolve, she became a symbol of defiance against the chains that bound her. but fortuna is more than a fighter. she is a tactician, a survivor, and a dreamer. she navigates the politics of rome with the same cunning she wields in combat, her every move a testament to her unyielding spirit. as whispers of rebellion rise in the empire, fortuna finds herself at a crossroads: remain a pawn in the spectacle of rome’s cruelty, or strike at the very heart of the system that made her.
tony watches clint from across the room, arms crossed as he takes in the archer’s usual calm demeanor, the easy smirk he wears as he twirls an arrow between his fingers. clint perched on the edge of a chair like he doesn’t belong anywhere else, all quiet confidence and a little too much swagger. tony's not sure if it’s the bow or the man that makes him so damn frustrating (maybe it’s both) he's always been the kind of guy who never asks for anything, but always manages to be the one who’s right when it counts —— a personal edge against the invincible iron man. ❝ not gonna lie, barton, i was expecting at least some kind of meltdown after that last mission. the whole world nearly came apart, and you’re sitting here like you just won the lottery. ❞
lips purse slightly at the comment, doubting the truth behind it. but nonetheless, he doesn't argue and settles in for the assessment. per her prompt he shifts his arm slightly to rest it against his thigh. jayce h u m s a short laugh, his lips shifting into a small smile, “ i don't want to say it happens often, that just makes it sound like i'm bad at my job ... but i can't say it's irregular, either. ” his reply is amused before attempting to curl his fingers, when the smile drops slightly. instead of his fingers curling i n w a r d s , they only shift as much as his brows furrow in confusion at the LACK of a fist. his eyes widen slightly as glances to her, attempting to read her face.
“ i'm guessing that's not great ? ” jayce asks, attempting to stay positive. his fingers DID still seem to work ... they just didn't seem to want to make a fist. more so hold a softball or something of similar size. he drops his gaze from the doctor's face and looks back to his hand, attempting to curl his fingers a little further.
dr. grey watches his hand closely, eyes narrowing as his fingers refuse to curl, and she feels a familiar tightness coil in her chest. there’s something about it, the way his hand moves that she know warrants a scan. (should she page torres? now? but callie and arizona are out with sophia...she bites her lip, putting in the order she's technically not allowed to call). she straightens, her fingers instinctively reaching for her stethoscope, even though she doesn’t need it for what’s unfolding. the way his hand moves—or rather, doesn’t move—makes her pulse quicken, just slightly, as she mentally rechecks the anatomy, the muscles, the nerves. she pauses before speaking again, her gaze sharp, but kind, as she steadies herself. ❝ It's not great, to say the least. ❞ she answers, her voice calm but with a hint of something sharper beneath. ❝ — your job, can i — i mean, this is strange. how does this happen? what exactly do you do? ❞
“ thanks for coming, ” she says as she finally manages to make her way through the crowded bar, a glass loosely between fingers. her free hand reaches to lightly touch his forearm, giving it a gentle s q u e e z e in greeting before turning her body to face the room at his side. “ water, sodas, seltzers, beer and wine are free at the bar until midnight, ” she explains, pointing to the bar, and then her hand shifting to point as as she speaks, “ darts are in the back, and there will be a championship. i think starting soon ... i should probably c h e c k on that. there's also some card games, people are scattered playing those. and the music is on a playlist, but you should be able to add any songs on the playlist over there. ”
@royialty sent ❄️ for a specified starter for amir.
❝ you’re a great host, you know that? ❞ amir says, the words coming out lighter than he expects, but warm, genuine. before emery can escape, he gives a gentle tug on the arm — the mix between a hello and a i missed you. (she's beautiful as ever, and the grad student can only pray thankfully to god for letting him finish the chemical experiments in time to make time to stop by this party. a little text to the organization that he's not taking any jobs tonight and now here he is, in front of her, like he'd practiced.) the atmosphere every bit as magical as the holidays, his brown eyes pouring into hers. ❝ a championship? come on, you think you can beat me? i'm willing to bet money on myself! ❞
the morning is still and cold, the kind of quiet that stretches across the terrace like a held breath. clarissa steps onto the marble, her sandals scuffing faintly, the plate in her hands trembling just enough for her to notice. figs and honey—something he once liked, though she can’t imagine the boy who used to chase her through the vineyards caring for such things anymore. not with the empire heavy on his shoulders. icarus sits at the head of the table, draped in gold and white, the rising sun catching in his hair, in the rings on his fingers, in the goblet he holds lazily in one hand. his gaze is sharp, cutting toward the horizon as if daring the world to challenge him. even in the soft light of morning, he looks every inch the emperor. cruel. resplendent. untouchable. clarissa sets the plate down carefully, her movements deliberate. ❝ you told me not to be late. ❞ she hesitates, standing by the chair. her fingers curl at her sides, but her voice stays steady. ❝ i thought you might like company this morning. ❞
“ so i'll take it that it's a no for ice skating? ” she asks, lips pursed slightly as she attempts to gage the mood. it was hardly the first time plans would change. between the two of them, noor was by far the one with the most pressing schedule. and emery enjoyed the f l e x i b i l i t y of being her own boss so ... she could accommodate what ever was needed. “ so what about ... hot chocolate and trashy tv ? ” she offers the alternative plans easily, turning to face the other woman. her hands raised in the air as if weighing the two options, favoring the latter.
while she knew it was very possible the plans would just completely fall through, if noor was tired enough ... she could hope that they could have at l e a s t have a relaxed night in. that was the crux of working for yourself. it was very easy to spend a LOT of your time alone, and sometimes even doing nothing with your people was needed.
@royialty sent ❄️ for a specified starter for noor.
noor exhales a soft laugh, the sound barely audible as she leans against the counter, her scrub top still rumpled from the day’s chaos. she’s tired—bone-deep in a way only surgery can carve into a person—but there’s a small smile tugging at her lips. ❝ skating’s ambitious for someone who’s been on her feet since five a.m., don’t you think? ❞ she points out, her voice tinged with the dry humor emery knows so well. her dark eyes lift, meeting emery’s with a look that’s almost apologetic but not quite. noor isn’t the apologizing type, especially not for things like this. not for working, not for showing up tired. she shifts her weight, crossing her arms, the tension in her shoulders softening just a fraction as she takes in emery’s playful gesture. ❝ a night in? you're learning! ❞ noor crosses her arms, her voice warm, if still threaded with exhaustion. she lets the words linger for a second, her gaze softening as she adds, ❝ only if you promise to pick something truly, irredeemably bad. i'm thinking reality TV levels of brain-rotting. I don’t want to think about anything remotely intelligent tonight after that five hour whipple. ❞
another day, another injury... but at least there's a friendly face peering down at him as buzzy winces through the pain. all of this adventuring and risking his life has led him here, this gurney, and @royialty looming over him as she cleans and tends to the wound on his arm. this could have gone way worse, lexie warns him, and buzzy, swallowing hard as he braces for discomfort, weakly nods along. "i know. i know. sometimes you just gotta take the risk, though. throw yourself into it for the good of humanity. they were stealing a priceless artifact," he goes on, glancing away from lexie and her diligent needlework. "they took off with it — right before closing time and everything, and i'm the better runner between shawky and i. i'm faster than he is; i had to catch up to them before the got away."
lexie is kind about this, but stern. she wants him to be careful. she wants him to stay out of trouble, not end up here in the ER with a large wound in his arm and a bit of blood on his face, and buzzy understands. he just can't agree to her terms.
"you love this career, right?" out of nowhere. buzzy prompts her for the truth as he tests the mobility of his arm, eyes scrunched. "this is your dream, right? working here. helping people. and it's dangerous, too — you've got so many lives at risk each day. their lives are in your hands." his gaze darts up to lexie's face, studying her expression. "if someone told you to stop, you couldn't. this means too much to you to just give up and find another role. same with me. even if i end up injured... i have to do this." a small smile. "i know you mean well, and you're tired of patching me up, but... i can't stop. i'll be back to see you next week, i bet, and we'll do this whole thing all over again." now his smile grows. "but you're the best, so. i'm always in good hands over here with you."
lexie pauses for a moment, her hands steady despite the rush of irritation that flares in her chest. she’s heard it before—the same reckless, impassioned spiel from buzzy, but this time it feels different, somehow. she doesn’t look up immediately, focusing instead on the precise stitching she’s making, allowing the silence to sit in the air. when she finally lifts her eyes to meet his, there’s a mixture of warmth and exasperation in her expression. ❝ buzzy . . .❞ she starts, her voice soft but firm. ❝ i get it. i do. you want to make a difference, to be the hero, to do the big thing. but you don’t get to just throw your body in front of danger because it feels right. you’re not invincible. no one is. ❞ her hand moves to adjust his arm, her fingers brushing over the wound, making sure it’s properly cleaned, and though she’s gentle, there’s something in the way she handles him that’s a bit sharper, a little more direct. she doesn’t need to say the words aloud—he knows she’s tired. she’s exhausted from long shifts, from people who think their work is more important than their health, from people like him who keep pushing their limits because they can’t accept a moment of weakness. (from worrying about the people she loves. like him.) ❝ you’re right about one thing, ❞ she continues, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly, though it’s not a smile. it’s something else, something that only he would understand. ❝ do love this job. and yes, it’s dangerous, and I put myself in harm’s way every single day. but i do it because it matters. because people depend on me. and you’re right, if someone told me to stop, i couldn’t. i’m not built for anything else. ❞ she hesitates, eyes narrowing just a bit. ❝ but that’s different. you’re not me. you have choices. you could walk away. you could let someone else do the running and take care of the rest. but— ❞ she stops, sighing as she finishes a stitch, looking into his eyes and waiting for him to respond, to convince her.
it's been a dream come true getting to act on stage , a feat mason had almost given up when parts didn't just fall into his lap the moment he graduated college. admittedly , he was much too impatient & focused on his past accomplishments in theatre classes to truly take the time to take each audition seriously , but he's learned & done better since that time & all that hard work seems to finally be paying off. he's on the stage & he loves working six nights a week , loves that he gets to be on a stage with a bright light shining on him while people clap & sing his praises. the attention is great , but it's the act of telling stories that mason loves the most , having always been a bit of a people pleaser & wanting them to have people leaving feeling entertained & maybe even happy with his performance. the thing about being a theatre actor though ? there is a possibility you may be noticed , especially if it's your goal to create joy in others , so he's a little surprised to find this woman at the coffee shop staring at him so curiously , unable to do much but smile in return & wait to see if she responds.
the woman mentions seeing his show , as well as something about surgery. she's a surgeon ? mason's head tilts a bit as his smile grows on his face , a hand offered in greeting , though he isn't sure if maybe that's a little too formal. shit , he's not really good with being recognized. aside from the stage door , this is actually a first for him out in the real world. ❝ ah jeez , you saw that ? ❞ mason laughs , a teasing lilt in his tone. ❝ i'm glad you enjoyed yourself. for a second there , i thought you were gonna say something not so nice ━━ you were staring at me for quite a while. ❞ more teasing , mason laughing lightly , raising his cup up for a sip. ❝ guess i uh . . . don't need to introduce myself since you know who i am , but you mentioned something about surgery ? you a doctor ? ooh , maybe you can recommend me a good plastic surgeon ? thinking about getting my knees done so i can be taller. ❞ he winks. ❝ i'm kidding by the way. ❞
noor's smile is light as a feather, but there's a knowing warmth in her eyes as she watches him—his awkwardness, the way he tries to deflect with humor, all of it reminding her a little too much of herself when she first stepped into this city, hoping to be seen, to be recognized for the work she does. she leans in a smidge, long fingers cradling the coffee cup in her hands, letting it warm her nearly broken fingers back to life as she listens. ❝ yeah, i was second—sorry, third row on the left ❞ she remembers watching him, in awe. ❝ honestly, I thought I'd have to fight off a crowd of your fans or something —— not sit across from you like this. it's like you had a secret identity or something. ❞ her smile widens a little as she notices the way he tries to cover his unease with jokes, but she lets it slide—she’s been there too many times herself. (re: a mess in her first surgical or...) ❝ as for surgery, that's me. dr. saleem, though just a resident. ❞ her eyes dart down to his knees, laughing. ❝ plastic surgery? hm, i have to say that's not my area of expertise, but i'd never rule it out for you! i might have some tips on how to keep those knees from getting any worse, if you're really set on getting taller. ❞ she teases him, standing up on her tiptoes to create the illusion of being taller than the young surgeon she is. ❝ why would you need to change anything about yourself? watching you on that play was . . . wonderful. you just have that raw talent everyone wants. ❞
inspired by demetrius, consider this a starter call! if we haven't talked, i'll reach out about plotting or perhaps through our characters into action. i'm happy to facilitate any connection building. i just asked that you please please specify muse (bonus points if its an original character!)
the rain felt colder than it should have, seeping through the thin fabric of clarissa's silk cloak, dripping down the back of her neck. (she's always hated the rain in rome—it feels too heavy, like the skies are mourning something no one remembers, mourning a person she once was) she knows atlas will laugh at her for it. he always does. you belong in the sun, princess, he’ll say, his voice that perfect blend of teasing and sincere. not skulking through alleys like some tragic lost dove. ❝ don’t be late,❞ she mutters under her breath, imagining him already waiting at the fountain. her words fog up in the cold air, vanishing as quickly as they come. she's never minded waiting for him, not really, but tonight feels different. like the world is holding its breath. ❝ just one night,❞ she whispers to herself, a soft vow that no one else will hear. ❝ just one night without visions. without prophecies.❞ i don’t need them tonight. not when atlas is waiting.
thinking of may calamawy's role in gladiator 2 and how she was cut because of literal anti-palestinian sentiment. i have never seen the movie and i never will but i'm tempted to make a blog for this character on pure spite
