muses on a whim

rules

when looking for starter calls check for posts tagged with /starter-call-for-name-of-character, for example /tagged/starter-call-for-queen-eva 

same for others, they’ll be ‘queen eva open’ ‘queen eva wishlist’ ‘about queen eva’ , just replace ‘queen eva’ with the character’s name. Memes are tagged ‘meme’ and work for everyone unless I tag otherwise.

About pages:

Agents of SHIELD - Jiaying

Community - Britta Perry

Once Upon a Time - queen Eva

Potentially to be added soon:

Zari Tarazi (2.0) from LOT only for Legends

May Holmes from Elementary, only for main characters  

↳ ❛  britta ! ❜ annie scolded, in her usual high-pitched manner. ❛  don’t say that. ❜  as much as the group berated the blonde, they cared about her. they all had their caveats. but they hadn’t meant any real harm by poking fun. but maybe it had affected self-esteem, now thinking she would always be the worst. she hoped jeff wasn’t making it worse now. a girl to girl pep talk was in order, as sometimes happened between shirley, annie, and britta. she wished they had gotten more time, the three of them. ❛  sure, you screwed up a lot but      you always had good intentions. well, i shouldn’t say always, but most of the time. ❜

an absentminded awww at the mention of the good old gang. she knew jeff would eventually like teaching. as the de-facto leader of the study group, the position suited his personality well. britta made a fair point, for the disassembly of the group meant he had nothing but teaching to focus on. of course the dean was still the dean, probably wearing costumes and flirting with jeff. and hoarding that collection of weird dalmatian stuff. blue hues rolled at the mention of chang. how that man wasn’t in prison remained a mystery. 

expression melts at the mention of frankie, and even more when britta drew the comparisons. she was right. despite their differing outlooks on life, they shared more in common than upon initial impressions. although annie relied on hope, whereas frankie strictly preferred rationality, they were both driven, headstrong women. and frankie had been the first lesbian she ever met. she became more comfortable using that word, and not friend of ellen. following the suggestion of keeping her away from a certain ex-lawyer, she began talking to frankie. how to explore your sexuality and not be uncomfortable with it. how to first accept yourself as a lesbian before coming out to others. annie would definitely pay frankie a visit before heading back to d.c. so she smiles back teasingly. ❛ you know i love a well organized binder. ❜ as much as she missed greendale, it was nice to reflect with someone who had been there too. with the stress of the internship and paying apartment bills without troy and abed to split the cost, this was kind of serenity. an empty bar, the faint sound of music, chatting with an old friend, drinking an appletini. ❛ we did cause a lot of the chaos at greendale. but those damages were worth the memories. i tell all the stories to my co-workers. i don’t think they believe me. ❜ annie flashes a coy smile at the blonde. ❛  i don’t think anyone outside of greendale would get it. ❜

Britta smiled almost by reflex when Annie called her name in that tone, a hint of amusement despite the topic. Annie was a decade younger, but so often she had been put in the position of being the voice of reason, the responsible one, by Britta and the others. She wondered if Annie scolded people at work too. It was heartwarming to be encouraged this time, after the first 'Britta!', and she took a sip of water to buy time and process it. "I think only Jeff knows this, but sometimes I have screwed up on purpose. I thought I wouldn't make it and wanted to get to the point," she admitted, resting her head on her hand, "But yeah, other times it was definitely not on purpose and I just screwed up because I wasn't thinking. I feel like I could pull this off now, though. With the kids. I never expected I could..." she hadn't told this part to anyone, but right now it felt right, "I want to commit. For the first time in my life. She says, having hit her mid-thirties."

Murphy blinked. His gaze darted around the room, but he saw no broken window or any sign of an intruder. Just Clarke, looking at him with wide eyes before she buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with a sob. A nightmare. It had only been a nightmare. Well, not only; Murphy knew how powerful dreams could be. He’d had plenty himself over the last few months and years. He didn’t envy Clarke one bit. Still, he wasn’t exactly sure what to do. Did he go comfort her? Not like he was any good at that kind of stuff. Did he leave her alone? Murphy glanced down at the knife in his hand, almost laughing at how he’d picked it up on instinct alone. Like he’d expected some killer grounder to be in Clarke’s bedroom, standing over a bed with a weapon on their own. Even if there had been an intruder, it wasn’t like he’d’ve been able to fight them off. “Uh.” He hovered awkwardly in the doorway, having no idea what the hell to do. “Do you need anything? Water, or, um. Warm milk or whatever?”

The last thing Clarke had expected to hear was John Murphy offering her warm milk. Or whatever, of course. She almost stopped crying from the shock alone, an insane small part of her wanting to laugh, but the nightmare had shaken her too much. "No... I'm sorry," she managed to say, because if he wasn't going to be hostile she had nothing left but to feel apologetic for that show of weakness and putting him on the spot like that. It was just a dream, and what wasn't a dream was in the past, so she had to pull herself together.

Never in a million years had Murphy thought he’d be living in a mansion. Like, an honest-to-god, multi-level mansion that had once belonged to a woman who had brought about the end of the world. It was so crazy, so absurd, that Murphy laughed more times than not when he woke up in his bed, limbs spread wide, skin touching sheets that felt like silk. Hell, they probably were silk; no expense had been spared at this place. He and Clarke were the main residents of the mansion, though they’d get regular visits from the grounders or their friends, who would sometimes stay a few nights. But it was like none of them could get used to the safety or luxury the mansion offered, which was just fine with Murphy; more for him. It was a quiet night in the house, Murphy trying to memorize the Trig words Luna had taught to him when she’d stopped by earlier. He hadn’t been able to get to sleep; the memories of being stuck in that bunker, and the cold press of the gun against his chin keeping him awake. It wasn’t his first sleepless night, and it certainly wouldn’t be his last. Then a scream shattered the silence, making Murphy sit bolt upright. It had come from inside the mansion, not outside, which meant there was only one possible source: Clarke. Without much thought Murphy jumped out of the chair, grabbed a knife from the kitchen ( just in case she was being attacked ) and ran to her room. He burst through the door and flipped the light on to see her sitting up in bed, blonde hair hanging around her face. “What? What’s wrong? Did someone get inside?”

Clarke had sat up by reflex when her door had been opened, but was still lost in the despair and confusion, convinced to be on the Ark long enough for her to whisper pleadingly: "I didn't want to kill him!" while her hand grabbed what she thought was Bellamy's arm. "I didn't-" And just like that, with the light on and reality becoming once again clear, she became conscious of her surroundings, of the cold sweat, her face wet with tears when she pushed her hair back and truly saw Murphy. Murphy? Heart pounding in her chest, she took in a breath that turned into a sob, eyes rapidly scanning the room and then falling back on Murphy. "What...?" she whispered, her voice cracked and she brought her shaky hand back to her face, to wipe the tears; much to her horror, her body wasn't done letting out the tension and she found that she was about to sob more, so she could only bow her head, hiding her crumbling face behind her hand.