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came here to say that i think panos is beautiful and you guys should make your muses give him a kiss on the cheek

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Making music for me is very sacred and it’s all me, and I’m in control of it and it’s very satisfying creatively.

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I cannot replicate the drive I had last night to do replies :((( plot and/or bullshit with me on disco?

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panos being a chaotic neutral and his big sister being a neutral evil being employed by a neutral good is particularly.... chaotic

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Panos is Katya.

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"I'dunno." Heavily-padded shoulders (exaggerating the V - shape of his frame even more) lift in a nonchalant shrug. "I think it's kinda cute." Behind his mask, the mercenary smiles while biting his tongue. He's bullshitting her hard and honestly felt he had to give the only woman in the whole militia a hard time. A fun hard time, of course. There's no doubt she's dealt with plenty of haughty men who disrespected her as a soldier, even a trained killer. He'd never stoop so low.

"We've," the hidden militia in the city, "been fuckin'round for too long. It'll blow our cover, sittin' here with our thumbs up our asses, you know what I mean?" Damn. All this anxiety's got him itching for a cigarette.

"How many more colourful names must you continue to give me?" The visor lit up from the shadows, blue hardlight glowing with a purple hue surrounding it and on the visor was the purple wicked grin stretched across it like a Cheshire Cat. The only thing bionic was her left arm. Note, change the colors to black if this continues in his presence.

Dullahan the hitman crossed her arms against her chest, tilting her head to the side by his question. A very faint scoff was made. "If there's a reason why he sent me to check on you, it's going to be a good reason why."

Behind her visor, her eye narrowed, examining his body language and his current appearance. "Three months." She said. "People are taking their chances and rumors have been circulating."

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FROM HERE:

"You have surely played your part well." He compliments, hands dipping into his trouser pockets as head turns, dark gaze looking out the playroom's window.

"Speaking of the end of this week: there will be some fantastical soiree this coming Friday." Raphael warns, passing her a sympathetic glance before returning his attention to the foggy window. "This will be our biggest performance yet I suppose you'll need a suitable outfit for the event." Hands roam over his vest, searching for the money clip that rests tenderly against his chest.

Once found, he pulls several paper notes from the silver clip and extends his hand out towards his play-wife. "Uh an advance in your allowance. Will this be enough?"

@redbritishsniper

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Coventry walls could only hold Adaline for so long. Poor, orphaned, and of meager social wealth with the cards she was dealt, one would imagine she would be bitter, hardened to what joys life could offer her, but, oh, nothing could steal the glimmer of hope from this dreamer's orbs of dark waters.

The novitiate indulges in her lover's frantic display, a smile tugging at the corners of full lips. Lithe fingers reach out to Sophiya, trail along her forearms and pull her into her lofty frame. "I am unharmed, my love. You worry too much " Words are not patronizing but sweet, reassuring, matching the gentleness of her touch. "Have you forebode me return to you in the emptiness of my presence?" She teases weakly, pulling dark strands over the other woman's shoulder and curling them around her digits.

"I wanted to see you." Ada finally confesses, gaze averting her own, trained intently on the strands trapped in pale fingers.

Open Starter

Open to: M/F Muse: Sophiya Bharath, 26 years old, Duchess, Bisexual I will make a new post for any replies! DO NOT LIKE THIS STARTER PLEASE! READ MY RULES BEFORE INTERACTING!

Summary: Y/M and Sophiya are lovers, but shouldn't be. For some reason, they cannot be together - feuding families, class differences, muses are engaged to other people etc. Nothing taboo though!

Open to plotting this out! WLW welcomed and encouraged!

"You should not be here..." The woman sighed, upon setting eyes on her lover. She was happy that they were there, but could not show it. The logical side of her one every time, for it was necessary for them to not be seen together. Sophiya moved to the door, making sure it was locked. The blinds were pulled over her room windows. In her nervous state, she could not wait to ask. "What are you doing here, my love?" The dark haired woman longed to touch them, to kiss their cheeks or embrace them in a hug.

Whenever the two were apart, Sophiya could not help but wonder what they were up too. If they were with someone, if they were having fun...She wanted them to be happy in spite of herself. "Are you hurt?"

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Toxic smoke rolls on the tongue he bites, expelling it through his nose in a frustrated sigh. While Michael may be correct, Raphael wasn’t particularly one to do as he’s told. If he was suggested, perhaps, but he is a proud man, stubborn. He’s paved his own path, independent and indulgent, and not even marriage (or a child) could so easily sway him. A shame, really.

Thumbing out the lit cigarette, he coldly returns the half - burned, tobacco - stuffed paper into its silver case. He is feeling particularly charitable today, obedient, perhaps even kind, but not enough so to not call his spouse by his given name. To the capofamiglia, it rolls off the tongue better, sounds sweeter, and reminds him of home. Disappointment often blooms in his chest when he is reminded, often by his husband, that not everyone could be so blithe about their non-anglican names

Raphael stares past Michael, at the crowning that adorns the perimeter of the playroom's walls. "This is MY home, Michele." He asserts, a bitter stubbornness nipping at the heels of his husband's name. Dark hues only offer the other a quick glance, not giving him the dignity of his full attention. Not until, that is, Michael's proposition resonates in the forefront of his mind. Bending slightly at the waist, he searches for his deceit and decides, most erroneously, that his husband is being nothing less than earnest.

"I've hardly ever denied you," Raphael begins with a smug pride, "but before I indulge you, I must ask Why now?" Prying is something that comes natural to the magnate, overtly in this moment and discreetly most other times. He was not shy about his extramarital exploits, as he never intended this relationship to be entirely anything but socially transactional, but he did not recoil at Michael's seemingly shy advances. Maybe they could make this work, he thinks for a moment, if Michael was able to rise to the challenge, any challenge that came with being a lover of his.

His face contorted into a disapproving frown as he caught Raphael's sidelong glance and silently interpreted his clandestine offer of treats to the young boy. The weight of caring for the kingpin's son in his father's absence had fallen heavily on Michael over the years. As a result, he had become deeply invested in the boy's welfare as he took on the role of the disciplinary parent. With his hands firmly planted on his hips, he shot Raphael a stern look and shook his head with determination. Their son, always full of boundless energy, certainly didn't need any more sugar to fuel him, but as the boy giggled and darted off, he found himself almost willing to allow the indulgence in sweets as a parting gift before he disappeared into protective services.

"Don't smoke in here," Michael scolded, his voice laced with annoyance and concern. He disliked how the smell of smoke clung to everything and was adamant about keeping their son away from it, as he suspected it wasn't conducive to his development. But, as always, Raphael disregarded his plea.

Michael couldn't help but tense whenever Raphael addressed him using the Italian variation of his name. In truth, his given name was Michele, but he chose to adopt the English/American version, and the Bureau had been lazy when selecting a new name for him. "I asked you not to call me that," He didn't want to think that Raphael knew his true identity, "There's been more anti-sentiment at work; I don't want you slipping and giving someone a reason to sack me."

He appeared sheepish for a moment as his eyes darted around before he pretended to finally muster the courage to speak. "I want more than this," he announced. For the past year, he had carefully woven a web of deceit with longing glances and unnecessary physical contact with the other man. All this was done to get Raphael to send his son away so he would be alone when the raid happened. "The last time I was with anyone was before our arrangement started, and I want to know if this can become more. If not, maybe I can have something with someone else. Discretely, of course. If not, I want a divorce."

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Insp

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jude law and stephen fry in wilde (1997) dir. brian gilbert

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CLOSED STARTER

A demanding hand attempts to usher his wife to him as the slender, raven-haired woman shifts in her seat to rise, a wrinkle, age - freckled hand weakly grabs the young woman's arm. Adaline stops, sits obediently yet uncomfortably as her husband approaches her and her mother-in-law upon the daybed. His rage is palpable and, though he may smile, the clench of his jaw is even more evidence of his displeasure. Tall frame tenses, delicate hand entwined in the aging woman's own as she argues with her son, all in a language the Parisian has yet to master Finally, Wilhelm relents, leaving his mother and wife in a huff as a gaggle of attendants follow his lead.

Though blue hues search the aged face for any clarification on the current situation, the matron says nothing, not in German nor French, and simply pats Adaline's hand. The pair sits in their usual silence until a cacophony of voices, unfamiliar voices, echo through the gilded hall.

Wilhelm returns, much happier than he left, and with him, unfamiliar faces to match the unfamiliar voices she had previously heard. Bashfully, she stands, curtsying and addressing the unexpected guests:

"Monsieur. Mademoiselle."

As chin lifts from her feminine bow, eyes catch those of the young woman, not much younger than she, and for a moment, she smiles, genuinely, for the first since she had arrived in this provincial estate. A friend, perhaps? She thinks to herself, until she catches her husband's longing gaze upon their fair-haired guest. Another one unfortunate.

plotted starter: 18th century, love circle goodness

for @amarvelousmencgerie

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On mobile for the time being. Sorry 😅.

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reverse starter call? reply if you want me to use a specific one of my muses.

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robert de niro as young vito corleone — ‘godfather’.

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It was a good deal for Raphael: he had finally rebuilt the fortune his father had gambled and whored away, and Natasha, with her name, needed money to stay afloat. While his marriage to a Corbett did not entirely heal his family's tarnished reputation, it did significantly mend what damage his father had done.

"Unfortunate Darling." Raphael mutters with an exaggerated frown. French, according to the proud Italian, was nothing but pig latin, derived from a people with fickle morals and holier-than-thou dispositions. He would have never had their son learn the language, however, Joey was English - born, not Italian, so learning the language would be more than helpful it's what all English boys learned. After all, Raphael was ( much to his dismay ) fluent in conversational French. One knows what they say about 'knowing thy enemy'.

"Ah," excitement returns to his features. "But very good, my boy! You may terrorize the world yet with the mastery of such a language." He laughs, peppering the boy in tickling kisses.

The cacophony of joy comes to a happy conclusion, Joey squirming out of Raphael's lap to pull the book from his mother's hands. Noticing, the capofamiglia offers, "go read on your own for now. I must speak with your mother." And the boy obeys, catching the attention of a maid servant who happily escorts him from the room.

Now, in the couple's solitude:

"You seem happier since the last time I saw you "

It was simple. One could say that she was surely lucky to score a man like him. Her, a former aristocrat fallen to rags because of the Great War. Her house gone, their money gone into ashes, her family, complicated but she sends them money to get them back up their feet. They were Corbetts. They were from a line of knights who served kings and were rewarded with lands and titles for their service. Looks like this king doesn't care for them this generation.

Oh she was lucky. Just a simple stumble onto his property without knowing when running off to find a new life for herself and then came a proposal from him with a few exceptions and she accepted it with her own proposals too, intriguing him.

Here she is four years later with a loving husband, a child bearing their resemblances, her face properly restored, security, all to play the role to play as the beautiful and supporting wife for the papers. Natasha was reading to Joseph, or Joey to everyone, on a French novel, teaching him the vowels and the language he'll someday pick up rapidly.

The utter of her husband's voice echoing the room she's in caught both of their attention and in an instant their child has ran towards him. Natasha simply chuckled by his enthusiasm and stood up. "Oh we were, darling." The petname holding no love but a simple title to their 'relationship'. "We were reading and soon he'll be speaking French to the staff in mere weeks."

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*record scratch* Panos is a certified munch.