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This is a semi-selective independent + multi-muse blog. If under the age of twenty please do not interact.
mun & muses 21+ ∣ penned by circe ∣ she / her.
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TRIGGER WARNINGS: strong themes of depression, suicidal tendencies, alcoholism, murder, abuse and sexual content. There is also often mentions of blood and other bodily fluids.
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UPDATE: I apologize for taking a hiatus without much warning. i was still settling into work and my new sleep schedule. i have decided to scrap most threads and will be starting fresh. i apologize profusely for disappearing. i'm excited to start fresh!
MIKEY MADISON as ANI MIKHEEVA Anora (2024), directed by Sean Baker
“zombie or not, i bet she’d still look beautiful.” they were toeing a dangerous line, one that ivy didn’t pay much mind to. modeling was fun, but regardless of if she left the shoot (and made some bad choices along the way) or not, she’d be able to land another gig. there were plenty of brands in los angeles that wanted to impress her father, she could afford to call a few of her own shots. they’d been working hard all day, they deserved to have a little fun.
ivy couldn’t help herself sometimes — she was a natural flirt. each time she bumped into elias at a party or as background in one of his photo shoots, she practically threw herself at him. she blamed him for it — with his stupid, handsome face and his dumb, athletic body. “watch it.” in a faux warning taunt, ivy caught his wrist in her hand. with her free hand, she tossed her blonde locks over her tanned shoulder. she took a step closer, tilting her head up at the other. “i’m open to other suggestions. what about… favorite blonde, dead or alive?”
warm fingers wrap around his wrist, his pulse jumps, electric. the air is suddenly dryer, crackling as she takes a step closer, crowding into his space. vanilla. sunscreen. a dash of Italian coffee. every warning bell begins to ring somewhere in the back of his mind but her scent—sweet and wafting makes his head go fuzzy. i'm open to other suggestions. he's certain of that, her mouth a soft plush of pink, pink, pink. he feels warm all over, despite his state of undress.
elias drops his arm, staying close enough for ivy's hand to remain wrapped around him before using his free arm to snake around the small of her waist. the fabric of her sweater rides up, golden skin liberated just enough for him to touch. he's smiling now, open and hungry. "dead or alive?" he pulls her in closer, encircling her as his mouth dips ever closer to hers. "i will have to think on that a moment," he murmurs before closing the distance.
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we were lovers in a past life but in our first life i killed you to protect you (and because i love you) and you cursed me and my next lives to never find love until i find you again
closed starter: @myplutoisms
HEAT. CLOYINGLY THICK AND SUFFOCATING. beads of sweat trickle down the crown of his head, from blackened curls to the sharp line of his nose, to his jaw. his skin once dry, now slick with the humidity of the new orleans' heat. his tenth summer in the city and he's yet to grow accustom to its muggy weather. how he longed for the honeyed winds of faerie; their gentle whisper swept between the evergreens and willows. if he closed his eyes he could almost taste it, the heady sweetness like wine—dizzying and welcome. he hasn't been home for two hundred and thirty-two years. and for good reason, he reminds himself, his eyes falling to the paper boat in his hands. whatever he missed, it did not return his affections in the slightest.
he stood at the shore of a marsh, his feet sinking into the wet land as if it intended to swallow him; he would not mind if it did. he wipes at the sweat near his brow to keep it out of his eyes, strands of curls clinging to his forehead with the force of his swipe. he was hot all over, soaked through with human sweat, and yet, even now, his heart remained frozen. stuck in perpetual winter. he tried to forget, spent a lifetime and a half erasing his memories of that night, but try as he might, it persisted. it's winter, it's hunger, it's teeth and bone, it's blood and noah—noah—noah.
vin sinks to the floor of the marsh, his jeans quickly drenched by mud and lukewarm water. "happy birthday, little brother," his voice sounds like it's been submerged underwater, miles and miles from shore. still, he places the paper boat on the water and watches as it floats away. the way he does, every year.
DEV PATEL as GAWAIN THE GREEN KNIGHT (2021)
Louis Hofmann as Max Yoder in RIPLEY (2024)
ivy waved a dismissive hand in elias’ direction, as though she wasn’t looking at him every chance she could get during their shoot. she couldn’t help it — she was only human. when someone who looked like that was getting paid to look cuddly with ivy on multiple shoots, the lines began to blur for her.
“all of them?” she asked with a head tilt, hands moving to her hips as her sweater rose up to expose a strip of tan skin between the sweater and calvins that hugged her hips. “if me and marilyn monroe were side by side, you couldn’t tell us apart?” with a teasing edge to her voice, ivy snagged a santa hat off one of the cardboard cutouts. she took a step forward, tugging the hat on the brunette’s head as a grin spread across her face. “lighten up. no need to sneak out when you get to spend all day with your favorite coworker.”
"no, I suppose if marilyn monroe rose from the dead I would be able to tell the difference," he keeps his eyes on hers, deliberately. he's had his fill of the rest of her for most of the day and in truth his resolve was beginning to wane. "what with her being a zombified version of herself and all. it would be quite the horror show." he knew he was being facetious, but it was easier to play indifference than anything else. his pr firm had made it clear to him that he needed to quit sleeping around before it completely ruined his reputation.
people liked pretty boys, they liked pretty boys that play tennis more. you know what they don't like? manwhores. he releases a long suffering sigh as ivy tugs a santa hat onto his head, her fingers lingering in the tufts of hair sticking out from beneath the cap longer than they should have. she is going to make this very, very difficult. "is that what you are now? my favorite coworker?" his tone is softer than before, full of gravel as he tugs on a loose strand of her golden hair.
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BLACK DOVES 1.02 ⌁ A Little Black Dove
━━━━ THE DISTANCE BETWEEN THEM FEELS SHARP, like a breath held too long — brittle and inevitable in its collapse. dionisio stays where he is, legs drawn close, watching the shape of sebastian as if he’s already a memory slipping out of reach. the sheets are cold now, the heat between them fading into something distant, like the ember of a flame that never quite caught. still, the ache of it remains, stubborn as smoke. the weight of sebastian’s earlier kiss lingers on dionisio's mouth like a bruise. he traces his lower lip absently with his thumb, almost like he’s trying to memorize the shape of absence.
sebastian’s words press heavy against his ribs, boring, as if desire dulled in his hands was a crime. the accusation curls around his throat tighter than sebastian's hand ever did, choking something raw and desperate inside him. but dionisio doesn’t argue. he only feels the weight of the unspoken, every heartbeat caught between the need to let go and the urge to keep holding on. the edge between them is razor-thin, and dionisio is tired of bleeding, but somehow the sting feels like home.
he shifts, palms pressing into the mattress, fingers curling where sebastian’s skin had been. the distance grows as sebastian pulls his shirt on, and with every passing second, dionisio feels himself slipping further behind. there’s a gravity between them, though — a pull he can't fight, doesn't want to fight, no matter how many times it drags him under. it’s already written in the way his breath stutters, in the way his body leans forward without meaning to, like a prayer caught on his lips.
“stay.” the word is quiet, unpolished. it isn’t a plea, nor a command. just a bridge built out of a single, unsteady step forward. he lets the word hang between them, soft and raw.
stay.
“you leave things half-broken.” his gaze lifts to sebastian’s, steadier now, but behind them lingers something deeper. “let me be whole — just once.”
HE WANTED TO TAKE PITY on the boy before him, to repair the damage he wrought by sharing his bed, but doing so would cause more damage than dion understood. he meets dion's eye and listens for that flightless heart; for its hope to die in the gilded cage he made it. "you cannot expect a fractured creature to make you whole, little bird," he meant it to be some kind of solace, a relief, but his tone betrayed him. he was all smoke-sulfur. kindness had a way of rotting in his mouth before it ever made it out.
stay; not a question, not a plea, but denied all the same. sebastian's life was not his own and perhaps he should have told him, how little he had to give, how even now, these moments between them took something out of him. or more, they forced something inside, a flicker of something much more dangerous than desire, something warmer than rage, sweeter than violence. that flightless bird, that restless heart and all it's hope, was starting to burn a hole through him.
sebastian returned to the frame he turned on it's face earlier before speaking again, "I cannot save you, dion." what he meant to say was this boy, this magician with the sun in his hands, could not save him. "I will burn through you long before you've noticed you're on fire." he picks up the picture frame once more and sets it upright, dion and his family smiling back at him. all that light, bright and sweet and golden in color, was long gone in him. a soul replaced with flint. a shiny black rock of nothingness.
he half turns, his eyes set on the door to his escape, his freedom. he makes the mistake of looking at him, catching the soft glint of water in dion's eyes. Sebastian, not for the first time, wondered if he placed the boy's hands on his chest, and asked him to set him ablaze, could he burn the rot out of him? and for a second more, he wondered when the smoke cleared, what would be left of him.
he cannot save you.
"go back to your family, dion. live your life," something clings to his throat, salt maybe, "I have nothing more to offer you."
HAVANA ROSE LIU — for South China Morning Post by Royal Gilbert
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“better to be a professional than a total scrooge, elias.” she countered, smiling up at him with a wide grin. it wasn’t the first time they worked with one another, but it definitely was the most miserable shoot they’ve endured together. between the bright lights and itchy sweaters, she was ready for the day to be over. “are you kidding me? i don’t even think you have to go that far. they probably wouldn’t even notice if we just left.” with a shake of the head, ivy turned towards one of the endless cutouts the crew provided. she threw her arm over a cardboard overly excited blonde that looked similar to ivy and mirror the goofy smile. “can you spot the difference? is there a difference?”
elias can’t help the snort that escapes him at the scrooge comment, “yes, i’m entirely certain your lack of professionalism has everything to do with the christmas season and nothing to do with your wandering eyes, reynolds.” but his smile still loosened to something softer—elastic to the touch.
“i hate to break it to you but i think they would definitely notice if the poster boy for their campaign up and disappeared,” he made a face at the blonde, a feigned irritation as he followed her over to one of the cardboard standees. can you spot the difference? elias gave both the standee and ivy a once over, his gaze lingering on the bare skin of his companion’s thighs—golden and warm. his eyes flit away, as if burned, as if caught. “i couldn’t say,” he peeks over at her, eyes zeroing in on her golden locks, “all blondes look the same to me.”
