send an emoji/series of emojis for my muse to answer any of the following questions in character! for some questions, there are fields italicized and bolded for you to fill in with the name of a person/place/event/etc in the muse's life. please remember to fill in these spaces in order for the question to make sense! each emoji is described in case you can't see them, and they are listed alphabetically. ♡
✈️ AIRPLANE — have you traveled anywhere that helped you discover something about yourself and/or about the world?
😠 ANGRY FACE — how easy or difficult is it for you to express your emotions? if you find it difficult, what do you think is holding you back?
🎨 ARTIST PALETTE — what are some hobbies that you like to partake in? do you think they're just to pass time or to distract yourself, or do you believe some of them potentially have therapeutic outcomes for you?
🎈 BALLOON — what is something you've created and/or accomplished recently that you're proud of?
🖤 BLACK HEART — what would you say is the darkest thought you've ever experienced? what do you think caused you to have that thought? have you ever planned on or fantasized about acting on it?
🏹 BOW AND ARROW — if there's something from your past that you'd give anything to go back in time and redo, what is it?
💔 BROKEN HEART — is there anyone in your life you wish you had a better relationship with? if so, how come? what makes this person important to you?
🎄 CHRISTMAS TREE — what is your favorite holiday and why?
🌙 CRESCENT MOON — what would you say is your current biggest dream and/or career aspiration and why?
❌ CROSS MARK — how would your life be different if [name of person] had never been in it? would it be better or worse?
⚔️ CROSSED SWORDS — do you have any skills that you are absolutely grateful you have and that mean a lot to you? how do you usually use these skills? would they come in handy if someone you cared about was in trouble?
🔮 CRYSTAL BALL — what is a core memory from your childhood that you think defines you today?
🗡️ DAGGER — what is something or someone you know you can't afford to lose? how far are you willing to go to make sure you don't lose it/them?
💧 DROPLET — are you grieving something or someone? do you feel like you lost something or a part of yourself with it/them?
😶🌫️ FACE IN CLOUDS — is there something you're hiding from the people you love? if so, how urgent is it for them to hear it? what's holding you back from sharing it?
🍂 FALLEN LEAVES — how would you metaphorically describe your life and the journey(s) you've been on?
👻 GHOST — is there someone or something that you feel is missing from your life? do you know if there's any way to find it/them?
🩶 GRAY HEART — what kind of friend do your friends consider you to be (mom friend, uncle friend, funny friend, etc) and why? what do you think this says about your personality?
🤝 HANDSHAKE — do family or platonic relationships mean more to you? or do they mean different things to you?
❤️🔥 HEART ON FIRE — what angers you the most? what triggers this anger, and how do you cope with it? what does this anger feel like, if you had to describe it?
💋 KISS MARK — if you had to share a romantic kiss with a loved one, where would you share that kiss and why? are you thinking about giving this romantic kiss somewhere other than the other person's lips?
✝️ LATIN CROSS — are you a religious person? did you grow up religious? does your faith mean anything to you today?
🩵 LIGHT BLUE HEART — what do you fantasize about the most often (generally/sexually/etc)? are there any people that are significant to or that you can see in this fantasy and why?
⚡️ LIGHTNING BOLT — how has [significant event in muse's life] impacted you? what has it made you realize about yourself? about others? about the world?
💄 LIPSTICK — have you had any romantic or sexual experiences that made you realize something about yourself?
🪄 MAGIC WAND — would you describe yourself as a superstitious person (someone who believes in superstitions)? do you believe in luck?
❤️🩹 MENDING HEART — how strongly do you experience your emotions? does it depend on who you're interacting with and/or the context of the situation?
🎶 MUSICAL NOTES — what song lyrics do you think most accurately describe you? your journey through life? who you are as a person?
🫂 PEOPLE HUGGING — generally speaking, do you feel very supported by the people in your life? how strong and cohesive is your support system, if you have one? do you often feel like you're at the front of the line or pushed to the side by the people in your life?
❤️ RED HEART — what is/are your love language(s)? how do you use it/them to communicate your feelings about others?
💞 REVOLVING HEARTS — who and/or what are you most grateful for in your life?
🎀 RIBBON BOW — how confident are you with your physical appearance? is there anything about it that you are insecure about? is there anything about it that you are happy about or gives you confidence? how do you think people perceive you based on your physical appearance?
🧪 TEST TUBE — if you knew you were going to die tomorrow, what is one thing you absolutely have to resolve and/or do before then?
🤔 THINKING FACE — what three emotions tend to dominate your mindset? do you know why they do?
💭 THOUGHT BALLOON — is there something or someone you find yourself thinking about more often than other things? if so, why do you think you do this?
💀 SKULL — how has [name of person] 's death influenced your outlook on life, if anything?
☀️ SUN — would you describe yourself as more of an introvert or extrovert, or are you somewhere in between? how come?
🪽 WING — if you could choose to have one superpower for a day, what would it be and why? what would you do with it?
✍️ WRITING HAND — what is one thing you wish you were better at? this can be a tactical skill, social skill, hobby, etc.
send an emoji/description of emoji to learn more about a writer's oc! many of these are taken from my munday asks meme, because i thought it would be fun to make a version for characters too! the prompts are categorized by emoji type and given descriptions in case anyone can't see the symbols. can be used for roleplayers and any general writers alike! for roleplayers, these can also be used for your interpretations of canon characters if you so desire as well!
𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒.
💭 THOUGHT BALLOON — what is your oc's MBTI, enneagram, and/or other personality aspects (if known/interested in)?
🚗 CAR — does your oc have a driver's license? can they drive/operate any automobiles/machinery besides cars?
✈️ AIRPLANE — does your oc like traveling, or do they consider themselves a more homey person?
🎮 VIDEO GAME CONTROLLER — what are three of your oc's favorite hobbies?
💍 RING — does your oc have any piercings? do they want any (more) piercings?
🖊️ BALLPOINT PEN — does your oc have any tattoos? do they want any (more) tattoos?
📚 BOOKS — what level of education has your oc most recently completed/is currently in (GED, undergraduate, grad school, phd, etc)?
🎻 VIOLIN — does your oc play any instruments? what is their skill level (beginner/intermediate/advanced/virtuoso/etc)?
🩹 ADHESIVE BANDAGE — does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities?
🩸 DROP OF BLOOD — what is your oc's blood type?
𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐋𝐒.
🎶 MUSICAL NOTES — what type of music does your oc like? do they listen to music very often?
💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know.
💤 SLEEPING SIGN — is your oc a light sleeper or a heavy sleeper? how are their sleeping habits?
🔱 TRIDENT EMBLEM — can your oc swim? do they enjoy swimming?
🔺 RED TRIANGLE POINTED UP — does your oc know how to use any weapons?
🔶 LARGE ORANGE DIAMOND — does your oc know cpr? do they have any other medical expertise?
🚫 PROHIBITED — does your oc drink/smoke? do they do it regularly, or is it more on occasion or for special events?
𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄.
🌈 RAINBOW — what is your oc's sexual orientation/gender identity? what pronouns do they use?
🎄 CHRISTMAS TREE — what is your oc's favorite holiday?
🐶 DOG FACE — does your oc have any pets?
🐈 CAT — does your oc prefer a wide circle of friends or a few close friends?
🐷 PIG FACE — what is your oc's favorite animal?
🐉 DRAGON — what is your oc's favorite mythical creature?
🍃 LEAVES FLUTTERING IN WIND — what is/was your oc's favorite subject in school?
🌴 PALM TREE — does your oc have a green thumb? do they enjoy gardening?
🍎 RED APPLE — where was your oc born? do they still live in/around their place of birth or do they live somewhere else? how do they feel about their birthplace?
𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒.
❤️ RED HEART — what are three of your oc's positive traits?
🤍 WHITE HEART — what are three of your oc's neutral/questionable traits?
💔 BROKEN HEART — what are three of your oc's negative traits?
💘 HEART WITH ARROW — what and/or who do(es) your oc consider the most important to them?
🧡 ORANGE HEART — does your oc tend to prioritize family or friends?
💛 YELLOW HEART — how many languages does your oc speak? what language(s) are they learning, if any?
💚 GREEN HEART — does your oc prefer being inside or outside?
💙 BLUE HEART — does your oc have any cool/special powers and/or abilities? how are they with magic, if it exists in their world?
💜 PURPLE HEART — what is your oc's ancestry/genetic background?
🖤 BLACK HEART — has your oc killed or seriously wounded anyone before? have they broken someone's heart and/or broken someone's trust?
𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒.
🎂 BIRTHDAY CAKE — when is your oc's birthday? how old are they? what are their sun, moon, & rising signs (if known)? what about their tarot card, ruling planet, & ruling number (if known)? do they fit the typical traits of these sun, moon, & rising signs?
🍝 SPAGHETTI — what is/are your oc's favorite food(s)?
🍰 SHORTCAKE — what is/are your oc's favorite sweet(s)/dessert(s)?
🍦 SOFT ICE CREAM — what is/are your oc's favorite ice cream flavor(s)?
🍔 HAMBURGER — is your oc good at cooking? are they good at baking? which one do they prefer?
🥯 BAGEL — what does your oc's typical breakfast look like? do they usually eat breakfast?
🥪 SANDWICH — what does your oc's typical lunch look like? do they usually eat lunch?
🍛 CURRY AND RICE — what does your oc's typical dinner look like? do they usually eat dinner?
🍸 COCKTAIL GLASS — what is your oc's favorite alcoholic drink, if they can drink?
☕️ HOT BEVERAGE — does your oc prefer coffee, tea, hot chocolate, milk, water, or some other drink? how do they like to take this drink (ex. coffee with milk, hot chocolate with whipped cream, a specific kind of tea, etc)?
𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄.
😊 SMILING FACE WITH SMILING EYES — what are your oc's career/general life desires? what do they want to get the most out of life?
😖 CONFOUNDED FACE — is your oc an introvert, an extrovert, or an ambivert? do they let people in easily, or are they more reserved?
🤔 THINKING FACE — what are some of your oc's quirks/mannerisms?
🧐 FACE WITH MONOCLE — is your oc more logical or emotional?
🤓 SMILING FACE WITH GLASSES — is your oc chatty or quiet? are they at ease in social situations, or are they more shy?
🤩 FACE WITH STARRY EYES — is your oc a planner, or are they more spontaneous in their actions?
😥 SAD BUT RELIEVED FACE — is your oc prone to getting stressed out, or is it easy for them to keep their cool?
😓 DOWNCAST FACE WITH SWEAT — is your oc open-minded or stubborn? are they inquisitive or do they prefer to keep to their bubble of knowledge?
😞 DISAPPOINTED FACE — does your oc attract others, or do they tend to be left alone?
🤒 FACE WITH THERMOMETER — does your oc get sick easily?
👨👩👧👦 FAMILY WITH MOTHER, FATHER, SON AND DAUGHTER — how many people are in your oc's immediate family? how many people are in your oc's extended family? do they have aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, etc? who in their family are they closest with? are they close with their birth family, or do they have a found family?
It wasn’t a question of if Monty would play along with Soren’s game - it was a question of how far he would take it. It didn’t really take a lot to get him going, seemed to find it fun. It was fun just watching him. Soren knew he was meant to be playing the part of a damsel in distress, but his face was already aching as he attempted to suppress the grin on his face, entertained as Monty picked up the ball Soren dropped and took off running. It didn’t help that his brain short-circuited the second Monty was pawing at him like a dog in heat. He really knew how to get into a role - Soren was too susceptible to flirtations and physical touch to ignore it for the sake of their back and forth playfight. Them versus a manager none the wiser. The way Soren glanced up at Monty with doe-eyes, leaning back into his hand as it skated across his frame, he didn’t blame the owner for having the wool pulled over his eyes so easily. “He’s bothering me.” Soren confirmed, chirping in when it wasn’t particularly necessary. The epitome of speaking up when he wasn’t asked - it was clear Monty’s question was rhetorical as he laid into the man in front of them, but as much as Monty enjoyed causing chaos, Soren enjoyed being his sidekick all the same. “Whiskey coke.” It seemed that all Soren was capable of doing at that moment was parroting after Monty - which made the following squawk appropriate. It was quiet enough that no one else probably heard, a result of Monty continuing his groping and wandering hand. How the fuck was Soren supposed to continue taking this serious when he was forced to work with a half chub and flushed features? He was letting the team down, eventually stepping forward to put some distance between them - it was for the best, like stepping out a mental stupor - to add in his two cents.
“Look, you’ve worked him into a tizzy,” Soren pointed out, gesturing to Monty with feigned concern, “and it’s hard to settle him once he gets going. He’s very passionate about his community, y’know? Since they’re hate crimed so often. I think it’s for the best that you drop this. He knows people in high places, and the Rolex is no bullshit. He’s usually very humble.” As if - the idea of Monty acting humble almost sent Soren into a fit of hysterics, already allowing his smile to finally creep through. He couldn’t help it, really - he was dramatic for the fun of it, but an actor, he was not. “Right, babe?” Glancing to his partner in crime over his shoulder, Soren finally waggled his brows at Monty, pressing his index knuckle to his mouth to chomp on for a moment. Truly trying to keep it together as they spoke a language only they knew. It made his stomach swoop. “Maybe we should just take our business elsewhere?” He asked Monty, holding out a hand for the taller of them to take. He’d only just allowed them some space, but suddenly Soren missed the heat, craved more touching while he could have it. “We’re obviously not wanted here, and I’m pretty uncomfortable. I didn’t know this place was like that.”
The pub’s fun, but Soren’s more fun. Theirs is a game he can pick up and put down whenever he likes (like Patti’s but less familiar) an exercise in accent practice, his pet yank — at times it feels like Monty keeps Soren on a short leash. An elasticated one, it proves, when Soren cuts their contact only to come pinging back to him moments later, hand extended towards Monty with the expectancy of a dopey, codependent girlfriend. Monty takes it without question, grip firm, circles the back of Soren’s thumb with their own and uses the contact to draw him in close, until they’re nose to nose. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” The tip of their nose slides down Soren’s and back up as they ask it, a beat from breaking character, but somehow Monty always manages to hold it together. It’s the method actor in them. “Somewhere where the staff know their arse from their fucking elbow, perhaps?” Pointedly delivered towards the manager, nose breaking from Soren’s as Monty fixes him with the tail-end of a Paddington hard stare — not that the Manager even cares, already over their domestic, as are most of the Rabbithole’s clientele. It isn’t as fun without an audience. Still, Monty continues the act, or at least the behaviour that ‘the act’ warrants; namely the closeness that exists between them, hand on Soren’s hip, forehead-to-forehead, nose-to-nose, safe in the knowledge that when the act ends so does any question of what’s real and what’s just a bit of fun, mate. Boarding school had taught him that well. What do you mean you don’t slap your mate’s arse as a sign of affection? Who hasn’t fucked their pals in the communal shower? It’s called banter. It’s called being a fucking laugh. “Or… we could get a bottle of cab sav from Saino’s. Head back to yours. Put a Miles Davis record on…” As Monty says it, their thumb catches at the hem of Soren’s shirt, slides under, circles over the heat of his abdomen. He’s pushing it and he knows it, devious glint in his eye. “Is Patti in? Not opposed to getting them involved.” It’s not like Monty’s not already shagging them on the reg, but mentioning them grounds this in reality somehow, less like they’re cosplaying as two old married gays, and more within the realm of possibility. It’s by design as much as it is by accident — Monty’ll let Soren stew on it, consider the possibility of the two of them slipping into something less platonic on the long walk back to Holland Hall, might even keep his fingers locked in Soren’s.
“Right then, we’re off, since our extracurricular activities clearly aren’t tolerated here,” Monty announces, snapping away from Soren, contact cut save the hand in theirs as they survey the pub, the captive audience they’d had in the palm in their hand during the heat of the scrap now well and truly lost. Doesn’t matter. He’s still got Soren clinging onto his every word, the only fanbase he’ll ever need. “This place has gone to the fucking dogs, anyway. Or should I say foxes.” A beat. “...Because foxes catch rabbits in their teeth, or something.” Doesn’t matter. “Ta-ra!” The hand that isn’t in Soren’s swipes a two-fingered salute towards the group of drama majors he’d previously been drinking with before playing house with his pet American became a more attractive offer, hands swinging as Monty tugs his golden-headed friend out the door. On the street, it should feel different; the act should end, the hands should drop when the temperature does, but Monty keeps him close, wrapping Soren’s fingers in both of his hands and drawing them up to his mouth to blow a hot breath against his knuckles. “You handled yourself like a fucking champion in there, darling.” Tongue flicks against his teeth with the tease of a garish pet name, accent still two degrees more clipped and Queen’s English than his usual Home Counties posh-but-lazy drawl. Thumb circling Soren’s knuckles, he tucks both of their hands deep into the pocket of his Carhartt jacket. “Pretty hot seeing you get all protective of me like that, I won’t lie... Like, okay Daddy. Go off.” That part at least is honest. When asked their love language, Monty would say all five, plus a secret sixth one of his own invention: commitment to the bit.
he scoffs, half an eye roll as she questions him. a finger slips beneath his collar and he follows the tug of it, body shifting forward ever so slightly, floating away from the rug without effort. his sternum presses against the back of her thumb, just enough pressure that he can feel her knuckle against his skin, that it might leave a faint mark. he could lean in further, until the sharp edge of her fingernail digs in, until the pressure against the ridge of his chest is so great it feels like he’s suffocating. he doesn’t. he stays still, remembers he should come up with a retort, a witticism to prove how unbuttoned he is, but she’s already moved on. when he listens to her talk about her studies, about her interests, he’s rapt. a mind he wants to get inside of, take apart bit by bit. he’ll make a point to ask her about the tibetan death rites later, wants to hear her explain them, talk him through it. right now though he just listens, thinks about how cool it is for someone to have things that they’re really seriously into, how rare it is for that to be authentic to them, how important it is that he sits and listen, how it will make him more interesting and cool and rare by association.
he blinks away his focus, smirks as the compliment is volleyed back to him. “ thanks, ” completely himself, it had been the cause he had dedicated himself to since he was about fifteen, a performance of authenticity so rigidly pursued it could only really boil down to inauthenticity, though he would never examine or admit that. the weight of piper’s words escapes him, for someone who thinks that they’re such an expert in the human condition his blind spots are shameful. “what if i want everything, ” he muses, “ or nothing at all. or if wanting itself is the folly, the wrongness, ” he’s working his way closer to a genuinely held belief, a return to strictly academic exercise would be preferable. “ like to want you’re letting your desires control you. maybe to achieve something really great you have to abandon that, it isn’t about what you want it’s about what you do. ” he’s getting caught up on his words, on his thoughts. he catches sight of piper again, pauses. when she feeds him another grape he lets the inside of his lip brush against her finger and time is fucking slow, or time is fast and they’re slow, he really can’t tell. he holds her eye the best he can, lets the moment simmer until he bites down on the grape and the tartness breaks the spell. asceticism takes back control, he moves back to his elbows and swallows. looks distractedly at the books on the shelves. “ i am unbuttoned, by the way, ” a decent collection for a common room, “ i’m cool, i don’t care at all what people think of me. ” the contradiction is astounding.
for a second, when he poses the hypothetical question, what if i want everything, piper thinks he’s talking about this. them. that he wants everything with her — right here on the floor of the common room — and a depraved, dirty part of her lights up with intrigue, a lick of want hissing up her pelvis. at fourteen, she’d watch atonement with her elderly aunt, had feigned disinterest in the library scene but felt some repressed part of her break open watching the split of cecilia’s green dress as robbie took her against the bookshelves. a young piper’d been unsure which character she wanted to be more, had laboured for weeks over what it meant about her nature or her gender, and whether it was normal to imagine yourself as both the giver and the receiver, before realising that both could exist at once. this isn’t a library, but the bookshelves make it feel like one. there’s no green dress, but there’s emerald in her kilt, the split of it held together by leather buckles. a few seconds is all it takes for her thoughts to catch light, spiral, consume her entirely, and then heath’s dousing them with a bucket of cold water with the frivolous addendum, or nothing at all. “you don’t want anything?” piper asks, attempting to keep her voice level, intrigued but not in a way that catches in her throat, that suffocates. it isn’t the question she’s actually asking, which is something far more insecure, something that wants to skitter out of her throat, grow claws, attach itself to heath’s skin and burrow beneath it; a question far too tied up in self-worth and complications and boundaries to even bother voicing aloud. “oh. so you’re saying…” she pauses a moment, considering her words. “—you’re saying that what you do is more important than what you want.” piper isn’t sure she agrees. feels pretty clear there’s some subtext there, or maybe she’s inventing whole narratives inside of her head just to justify touching him. “so what are you doing? about anything?” nothing. he’s doing nothing. except the heavy way he holds her eye doesn’t feel like nothing — even if it’s a bottom of the barrel scrape at something that feels like wanting on piper’s part — because it has her stomach tight with something, something that tells her that maybe it’s fine to let desire control you. that handing yourself over to it is an act of doing in itself.
“where do you think the doing comes from? it comes from the wanting,” piper responds, posing a new theory. “the wanting always proceeds the doing. without desire, there’s no action, only inaction. that’s why monks sit around doing nothing and just being, because they don’t want anything other than the present moment. they’re content with what they have.” your hunger hurts you awake. the sin is not the wanting, it’s the wanting more. her eyes are still on heath’s as her finger lingers on his bottom lip a beat longer than necessary, an act of doing that comes from wanting. feels like their conversation’s being spoken through a veil, neither of them willing to say exactly what they mean. maybe she’ll let action say it instead. piper almost does, is right on the cusp of shifting her wrist forward, sinking the two fingers that brush against his lip inside of his mouth to feel the hot wet press of his tongue, but he bites down on the grape before she can do it, effectively severing the window of opportunity with his teeth. her hand drops back to the safety of her lap. she swallows down the sting of humiliation, presses the palm of her hand against her belly in an attempt to quiet the swarm of bees stirring inside it. “i think i’m buttoned up.” she admits, a low swell of discomfort that exists side-by-side with any attempt at vulnerability. “like… i don’t know. academically i’m ambitious, i do things, i go to conferences, museums, i read, i write papers, but— outside of academia it’s like… i’m clueless. i want everything. and yet i don’t do anything about it. it’s like i’m always waiting for someone to give me permission. even to just exist.”
Other kids had always found Patti a little strange. She wasn't quite like the rest of them, with her stories of lambs born stiff and tractors that chomped like teeth, a knack for tracking badger sets from a set of three scratched claw tracks. She'd sit up at the front with the bus driver because they'd gotten to become friends, after all of those long rides, her dad's farm the last stop on his list. That fifty-three year old, bald, liver spotted man was her best friend for years before Isla moved to town; he'd sing out of tune to bad songs on the radio and Patti liked it, those strangled vocal cords like a set of broken bag pipes, how unabashedly loud he enjoyed his quirks. Not that Patti didn't occupy her time with other methods of finding company: wriggling caterpillars carried on gnarled sticks, goats she'd feed all kinds of barbaric scraps just to see if they'd eat it, an imaginary band of brothers who played rough and shoved her off of hay bales. Maybe that was why they didn't blink twice about the apple lobbing, so used to foul play, pigs who risked it all during squeals belly deep in the muck; it didn't even cross their mind that it wasn't societally acceptable behaviour. Grinning (it genuinely came across half-demented, ecstatic delight so unusual on Patti's inanimate Victorian doll features that it was startling, teeth so used to tucking away) Patti hopped and skipped to close the distance between the spat, barely wafting a hand to discourage the stranger. "Get a hold of yourself, Jesus. Unhand him." As if they hadn't enlisted Ted's help in the first place. They were good at that, flipping the script.
"Yeah. My brush strokes are pretty phenomenal," Patti agreed, briefly envisioning themselves as a piece of work, indeed, hung in a gilded gold frame, bloody Renaissance spatters and a severed head held up in victorious fist; that was, until they reached out, and Monty lurched, too, collapsing them on top in a vicious clash of limbs. "You fuck," Patti laughed, properly, stomach taut with it. Then, recalibrating tactics, they relaxed their weight into Monty, eyes flitting back and forth, pondering a fact they'd once read about snakes, true or not, pressing themselves against their prey to measure how large they were, whether or not they were fit to be swallowed; Patti did the same, hips to hips, only their torso remaining propped aloft. Anyone would think they ought to feel shy about entering such a position on a cobbled street in waning daylight. Patti had never particularly felt shy about anything. "You're less ugly up close." Then, barely allowing for such an uncharacteristically rare compliment to linger, Patti lurched her head down and chomped once, hard, on Monty's shoulder, right where his sleeve had slouched enough to half reveal skin. A quick roll and spring to her feet, then a stoop and a thwack, right on the idents of teeth. "You're it!" That was it. Then she took off running, practically galloping, a jump surpassing a stranger before she slipped inside the pub. Once in, she composed herself entirely, found a stool by the bar and sat up and ordered a pint. Anyone would think she'd never been playing at all.
It isn’t until Patti’s body’s tumbling down into his that Monty realises the delectable inevitability of his faux pas; obviously they’d play it like this, strip back the layers of his patience with the press of their hips, his body humming back like a car engine, boot popped, a beat from catching fire. A low growl rumbles in his belly and rips up through his larynx, splits from his lips in an animal howl, the yelp of a dog’s chew toy and Patti’s the one with her hands around it, squeezing him for the sound. Hands lock around Patti’s waist, keep them close, one sliding up her spine to coil against the back of her throat while the other sinks low to grope at the left globe of her ass. “Are you trying to make me hard?” Monty asks in a low grumble that comes from his chest. The answer’s always a yes. Patti gets off on cucking them, and sometimes Monty will play along, let them think they have the upper hand. This time he’ll bite, almost does, in fact — teeth bared and prepped to sink down against her throat, leave the two red pinpricks of a vampire’s calling card — but Patti beats him to the pulp, incisors clamping down against the collarbone, hard enough to leave a mark. Good. He wants to be marked up, illustrated, covered in bites and bruises and nail marks, not just by Patti but by everyone he negs and taunts and lazily smiles his way into bed with, until his skin looks like a map of every lover’s hometown. His hip swivels at the hinge, attempts to lock a leg over Patti’s waist, to flip them so that Patti’s the one with their back to the cobbles and Monty’s on top. He doesn’t care, an exhibitionist by nature, would take them right here if Patti didn’t have the foresight to slip up and out of his grip before he can so much as slide a hand up their skirt. “You fucker,” he exhales, when they slip through his grip like a whisp of white smoke, laughter rich and heavy in his chest. “I’ll eat you up. Armie Hammer will look like a fucking... vegetarian when I’m through with you.” Threats of cannibalism aside, the game continues, and not only the one that involves tig, though with the hand that jabs into his freshly-left bitemark, Monty’s ostensibly it.
They decide to give Patti a head start, lying prone as they catch their breath, gather their wits, roll up on their elbows and get to their feet. Never one to leave a fight without a true mark of respect, the groundskeeper’s pulled into a strong handshake — probably all those years of cricket and rowing and rugger in him — and then Monty’s on his way, a leisurely half-jog to chase Alice down the Rabbithole. Even in a school full of left-leaning arts students speckled with trade union pin badges and vintage satin and lace raided from dead relatives attics, it isn’t hard to spot Patti in the pub — they stick out like a Victorian corpse’s dilapidated thumb — and in a few short’s stride’s Monty’s closed the distance between their bodies. Their arms coil around her waist like a cage, draw her back against their chest, almost off the stool entirely, mouth sinking down to land a bite against their neck. Feels only fair to return the gesture, like ‘his’ and ‘hers’ embroidered towels on the cotton anniversary, only it’s ‘theirs’ and ‘theirs’ and the only gift is the spark of adrenaline that it fires in the belly when you feel like you’re under attack. Teeth move to clamp around their shoulder, to tug at their ear, only letting up when Patti’s pint arrives, a reminder of an unspoken expectation to behave that Monty rarely follows. Still, he detaches, allows them to slump back against their stool, hooking a second stool further along the bar with his foot to pull it closer to Patti’s, so that the two of them can sit inside each other’s orbit. “Yeah, I’ll get a piña colada when you’re ready, mate,” Monty tells the bartender, fishing out his card to swipe it against the card reader before Patti can even pay for their own pint, one arm still hooked around their shoulders. “With a goofy little umbrella. Cheers, pal.” They turn their attention to Patti, fixing them with the full weight of their stare as they sink down into their stool. Part of their body has to always be connected. This time, it’s his legs, shifting either side of Patti’s knee so that he can clench it between them. “Points deducted for foul play.” His fingers reach for a nearby beermat, rest it on the side of the bar and flip it with the backs of his fingers, making a clean catch when it returns. “Turn me on because you want me, not because you want to win.”
splayed out on the floor, book abandoned somewhere on the ground next to him, his head is half propped up by his arm, other hand playing idly at piper’s tights. his ratty old t shirt offers no protection from the rug they’re arranged on, some of it soft against his skin and other parts scratchy where the thread has worn bare. he had had a sweater, but it’s abandoned somewhere now, crumpled up on a table in the corner of the room. it had been warm in the spring sun that poured in through the window, but now as the afternoon slips away to dusk a chill was beginning to set in. he nips a grape from piper’s fingers, it blooms sweetly across his tongue and then bitter, bitter, bitter as his teeth grind down the skin. “ i don’t think that what i’m doing is my father’s just because he did it like thirty years ago, ” his eyes watch absently at the shapes he traces on her legs, “ i mean, we’re so different anyways, me and him, he’s very — buttoned up. ” it’s true, mostly. heath insists on being brash in all the ways his father isn’t, but he also still remembers the first ( only ? ) time he had ever really felt like his son; both of them hiding from a party his step mother was hosting, sitting silently in the study heads in books, neither commenting on it. one of his step mother’s friends had barged in by accident, ‘ what a pair you two are ’, he couldn’t tell if she was trying to be snide or encouraging, they went back to their reading. “ so it’s as much just yours as you want it to be, i think. ”
as she recites the poetry he lets his head lull to the side, cheek pressing into her leg, her tights soft against his skin. eyes watching her lips form the verses. “ who says the path less trodden has to be the better one. if you only go down that route because others aren’t you’re still just letting them determine your actions aren’t you ? ” his thesis in life, always refusing to do what others want him to, “ besides, it’s more about you than the path anyways. i mean, you can take the path less traveled and just do it totally blindly, or you can take the more common path and be completely awake, just totally completely yourself. ” his eyelashes are nearly brushing against pipers calf and she looks like a picture laid out in front of him. like a muse. “ that’s what i like about you, y’know. you’re like totally completely yourself. really real. ”
it never used to be this warm in march, he’d told her earlier, hot sun beating down through the stained glass window, colouring them red and blue and gold. climate change, she’d responded, a placard-wielding uprising building in her belly. but now the sun’s low in the sky, and there’s no excuse for the heat she feels blooming wherever he touches her, one layer of fabric between his fingers and her thigh. her eyes close, tune out of one sense and into another, focus streamlined to the section of leg heath’s closest to, the hairs that stand on end beneath her tights. there’s a tightening in her like lacing up a corset, everything squeezed in, organs pretzelled together. “and you’re unbuttoned?” she takes the bait, swirls it around the inside of her teeth with her tongue, a hint of irony in her tone, one eyebrow popped above her still-shut eyes. smirk puppet-string pulling at one dimpled cheek, her hand drops to his chest where his buttons would be if he weren’t in a moth-holed t-shirt, thumb hooking over the collar with a tug. “i guess the whole… medieval history angle, that’s mine. like my mom’s into old buildings from an architectural point of view, and dad’s— well he’s done all these papers on languages and the african diaspora, but… i’ve never seen either of them in armour. they’re not really into swords or old english and the only stuff they know about tibetan death rites is from my tenth grade history essay.” as if the mourning customs of the tibetan monks are a standard dinner-time conversational topic. for piper, they are.
heath’s head turns, presses flush to the soft part of piper’s leg, and something hard and tangible skitters in her rib cage like an insect, pulse a little faster. thankful for his initiative in holding the conversation, she swallows, attempts to find her voice from somewhere deep inside her chest, half-afraid that it’ll come out as a gasping, breathless howl. piper pushes up onto her elbows, careful not to jog him from his position on her leg, eyes boring down at him as the weight of recognition presses heavy on her chest. “uhh... okay. thanks,” is all she says at first, blinking rapidly, her heart a trapped rabbit with it’s paw caught, leaping around inside her sternum. “no, that’s— i mean... ditto. you’re completely yourself, too. it’s… yeah. refreshing.” real. is that a compliment? analysing only instigates overthinking, and piper tries to divert attention away from any subtext almost the second he’s said it. “—but i think you can be completely yourself and still not know what you want. or maybe you think you know what you want, and then later you realise you don’t actually want it.” it’s not intended to sound as pointed as it does. her head feels heavy trying to hopscotch over the trip-wires he’s set, like she’s a child again, a crayon clutched between her chubby fingers, attempting to colour within the lines of friendship. speaking only ever seems to lead to her conducting a post-mortem of entire conversations. instead, she sinks her hand down into the punnet, plucks out a grape, and reaches down to tuck her thumb over his lower lip, tugging his mouth open to press the grape onto his tongue.
LOCATION: a little common room in castle fell.
TIME: early evening. dusk. like five or six maybe idk.
WITH: heath / @cortvdos
feet tucked into an empty cubby-hole in the ceiling-to-floor oak bookshelf, piper’s stretched out on the persian rug, kilt askew around her knees and hair fanned out around her head in a perfect, jet-black halo. they’re laid out on the rug, top-to-tailed, his fingers plucking at a ladder in the soft white mesh of her tights. on her stomach sits a carton of grapes. it rises and falls with every breath that she takes, hands dipping in every so often to pluck one out and slide it into her mouth — or heath’s, when she’s feeling dangerous, and her hands become restless, twitchy fingers in search of something to fill them. “ it’s interesting you think that... ” she notes, after a beat, mulling over his thesis on why the two of them have ended up rewalking the same well-trodden path to academia that their parents had before them, despite better intentions to do something more vocational. “ for me, it’s not so much an annoyance. i am proud of what my parents do. i think it’s inspiring, i just— i’m more disappointed in myself ? because i wanted to have something that was just mine. ” like athletics, for example. or something that required a completely different cognitive part of her brain. “ there’s a robert frost poem that goes, two paths diverged in the woods and i— i took the one less travelled by, and that has made all the difference .” whereas they’re on the path that’s trodden right down into the earth. her chin tilts to shoot her gaze across at him. “ we’re not on the path less travelled by. do you think that makes us unoriginal ? or uncreative. ”
guillotines came to mind, watching "monty’s" jaw work out every word and slice into every flawless enunciation, adorned with the crest that is his chin dimple. knew she’d start hissing if she bore watch to his chewing, let alone heard it – some people were shudderingly audiovisual to ava; omens of senses-to-come. a look into what could set her teeth on edge so she does it preemptively; a ghost of a freckled scowl marring her nippy features. fewer were surprises. tolerable sounds, if not pleasant — it didn’t help that he’d been talking this entire dull tour she’d been a chained prisoner to, along with her peers. she was sure it would’ve been more exciting if they’d been left to their own devices; assured she wandered quite well on her own, even proud she solved the maze on her first week in the castle, especially now that, sigh - the very heart of it pinged at hers from time to time, it seemed. she’d just began to wonder whats he up to now until she heard a word she believed she’d hallucinated until he repeated - almost gratingly but didn’t matter when her boredom was at an end, it seemed. thank you, merciful lord.
“rabbithole?” asked with an inquisitive brow and a lopsided grin, the rest of his face now the most fascinating thing in that there room - what the hell, sure. they can do rabbithole, whatever it was. sounds far more interesting than some hole-in-the-wall cozy cafe, no matter how interesting percy believed it was. maybe if she was here. “what’s that like?” eager and half-playing up the wide-eyed, hopeful pseudo tourist. k-holes came very briefly to mind, but she’d chucked it to some of that langston longing she couldn’t help but feel the further they got away from the last brain-melting rager.
monty might seem pretty unobservant (read: fucking obtuse) to the naked eye, but to give credit where credit’s due he’s a dash more intuitive than he lets on. he’s caught her eye — the one he’s been mentally referring to as ‘the fit one’ — on more than one occasion, and while he’s mostly feeling daggers and white hot rage being laser-beamed back his way, also feels a bit like maybe she’s obsessed with him? like she isn’t really looking anywhere else, and that’s pretty telling... either that or she’s one of those man-hating scum manifesto types who thinks all men should be killed with hammers or whatever. would it help if monty told her he doesn’t fully identify with traditional notions of masculinity? yeah, probably not. hard to critique the patriarchal system when you actively benefit from it or whatever the goth girlies are saying on tiktok these days... “rabbithole,” he repeats, sidling in a touch closer, has to dip the chin she’s seemingly fixated on to look her in her big brown cow eyes. good eye contact. he likes that. “it’s like bath’s answer to berghain. you’ve been to berlin, right?” who the fuck hasn’t been to berlin? “nah, it’s more lowkey. kind of a speakeasy-cum-pub situation. they do drag shows, poetry readings, crap like that. so you can get up on stage and do your little jesus cried for our cyn-thi-ahs.” monty’d once read out a spoken word poem from the nationwide bank advert as a bit and got a resounding uproar of finger snaps. proof that people will clap for anything if they’re dumb enough. “instead of asking me what it’s like, come for a drink and form your own opinion.” dumb little smile pushing dimples into his cheeks, he jerks his head towards the door, thumb following suit. “c’monnn…” his thumb jerks towards the door again, elbow hooking like a dickensian orphan, as if to take off at a run. monty whisks around on their heels, firm slab of oak pulled swiftly from it’s cork, and lets the breeze whip in from the street. “what do you drink? chateauneuf de pape?” doubts they’ll fucking have that. “they might stretch to a cab sav.”
for: open to everyone! @langstonstarters
where: the lamb and flag
"No, sir - you got the wrong guy!" The manager absolutely had the right guy. Usually, Soren was stealthy when it came to plucking up drinks left behind on tables. Left behind - halfway through being finished, but the owner had moseyed their way over the bathrooms, it was all the same, as long as you didn't get caught. Which wasn't in the plan, for obvious reasons - Soren always hated the part where he had to talk others down with the world's stupidest excuse. "Tell them, babe. We only just got here." Dragging someone into his mess wasn't ideal - there weren't many people as good at thinking on their toes as he was. But more people involved made his pleas all the more valid. Mouthing a rushed 'Sorry' to the closest person to him, Soren held his breath while waiting to see if they would corroborate with his story.
if there’s one thing monty loves, it’s tomfoolery. they’re partial to hijinks, shenanigans, and even the odd bit of horseplay. it’s a shared language that exists between him and soren, soren and him, so when soren throws out a figurative hand in the dark, desperate to be grabbed and pulled ashore, monty bites so hard that he chomps down to the bone. “what’s going on, babe?” monty asks, tucking in behind soren to curl his hands around his waist, a heightened performance, monty with the sound dialled up to a hundred and slathered in camp. “is this guy bothering you? are you bothering him?” his eyes are now fixed on the manager as he separates himself from soren. the tether between them’s reinstated when his hand lifts to tangle in the back of soren’s hair, keeping him close. “i wanna speak to the manager…” they’re quickly informed that this pillock is the manager, and so basically they’re shit out of luck. “this is outrageous. a travesty, say i, a goddamn travesty. you think we’re not good for it? look at my watch. look at my watch.” now he’s flashing it in the manager’s face, taking his character of white middle-class father meets gay menace incredibly seriously. “this. is. a. rolex. do we look like the kind of people who can’t afford… what is it you’re drinking, honey?” monty asks, dark eyes fixing on soren as he sneaks a hand down to cradle the cheek of his ass — in the name of a believable performance, obviously. “a whiskey coke? do we look like we can’t afford a whiskey coke? hell, i could buy everyone in this place a whiskey coke if i wanted.” his index finger does a circle of the establishment, tongue kissing the backs of his teeth. “you know... there’s a word for what you’re doing, right? i really don’t wanna use it, but i will. i’ll get stonewall down here. i’ll get galop down here. i don’t care. you know how many fucking fruits go to a school like this? it’s an art school. a fucking art school! they’re all gay. even the lecturers are gay! you really want your business to be branded as a hostile environment? do you?”
𝗳𝗲𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 @maggotmouth ... monty.
🐑 : @ waitrose around closing hours so 7-8 pm?
all they wanted out of life was peace, quiet and around seventy-seven thousand pound sterlings , god! was that so hard to get around here? it was, because they were making minimum wage and the day that they got a raise was the day that the sun exploded. “ good evening , how can i help you today ? " the absurdity of there even being any customers at this time of day doesn't fully wake them up after impersonating a mannequin for over an hour. slow blinks accompany a tone that suggests she may be reading off a script. “ please be aware because of the incident last week, don't even try to ask me to give out discounts or free merchandise to anybody and trying to bribe me is an offense that will get you kicked out of this establishment. ”
“that any way to talk to an old friend?” monty asks, dropping down onto one elbow at the service desk of the tobacco counter. though he’s not really a friend, is he? a significant other, once, or more accurately a significant annoyance, and now something more akin to a ghost that haunts the edges of her periphery. “i’m offended, lally. wounded, even.” three items are slapped down onto the counter — a box of skyn ultra-thins, a kitkat crunchy and a packet of juicy fruit chewing gum. monty gestures towards the condoms. “those aren’t for me. i’m celibate, actually.” he performs a solemn little sign of the cross with his index and middle finger, briefly recalls being back at those mandatory weekly masses in the chapel with the chaps from harrow, all of them passing expletive notes inside hymn books and trying not to piss themselves laughing during the homily. “much better behaved these days.” much better behaved than the time he’d broken things off with her so he could fuck off to thailand and sleep with other gap year wankers, he means, but she’s over all that shit now, surely. they were kids. “you wouldn’t get me kicked out,” monty counters, nose scrunching, chin propped up in one hand as he leans against the counter. “—oh, can i get some golden virginia as well? the forty bag.” old habits die hard — he was rolling his own then and still rolls his own now. “you look good, by the way.” monty notes, gesturing a finger at her uniform, a smirk starting to writhe inside of his mouth. admittedly, it brings him joy to pester her while she’s on the clock. “yeah, green really brings out your, um… freckles.”
Patti had been in the midst of daydreaming about owning a giant bearskin rug with a snarling taxidermy head; mentally debating the ethics of owning such an outdated piece versus how fucking cool it would be to sprawl atop, reading a book about cannibalism besides a crackling fire; when Monty wrecking balled through their train of thought like Miley Cyrus circa 2013. There wasn't any time to explain the situation to their company. In fact, Patti reacted with such feral instinct that they were barely conscious of it, the fact they all but shoved the guy they'd been standing with into a rack of shelves in order to lurch to action after Monty. "Fuck, sorry!" was all she could offer, lighter dropped then reclaimed again, a frantic scrounge for victory clouding any rational judgment; despite not taking much seriously, notoriously deadpan, it was actually Patti's Achilles' heel, tooth-and-nail scraps like these, childish games that unlocked a competitive streak only comparable to a brutal, unwavering bloodlust. Frankly, they looked a little unhinged as they leapt and dashed, sheer Victorian gown straggling behind them like a pirate ship full mast at surrender during a thunderstorm. Still, there was no surrender in how hard their black boots resounded off the cobbles. "Jesus, oaf down!" they practically cackled, syrupy and unfamiliar inside of their gravelled throat, a chainsmoker right from their early teens; the amusement vanished fast when Monty righted himself, managed to make a comeback. She'd almost reached out and snatched a handful of his left butt cheek in a frenzied vie for the win, rampant for whatever was closest. It would've been really handy to be capable of some kind of animal shifting in that moment. Patti had seen Doom scale buildings with nothing but sharp claws and sheer determination in a matter of seconds. Maybe the smoking was catching up to them a little. Not thinking of anything but the cavernous desire to win, Patti snatched a fallen apple that'd missed a bin, resorting to dirty tactics just to prevent him from getting away. A pull back, a hurl, and a shockingly hard lob; the half rotten fruit went sailing and, ultimately, viciously, whacked Monty on the back, somewhere close to his tailbone. To be so ferocious about a game of tig that you descend instantly into violence. Moments like these reminded Patti she'd been raised on a farm, as much a creature of animal instinct as the other of her dad's reared-for-slaughter livestock. Then, as if it wasn't a key component to him playing the game at all, "stop fucking galloping! It's -- someone, that man stole my fucking purse!"
one moment monty’s hop-scotching his way over bumfuck cobblestones, the next there’s an explosion of pain at the base of his spine where his tail would be curling if he were a less evolved being ─ and he’s already pretty unevolved ─ or god forbid a catboy. “did you fucking shoot me? have i been shot?” when he was twelve, monty’d skimmed his brother hector’s shoulder with a number six shot. it was a graze. he’d been aiming for a grouse. still hasn’t heard the end of it. barely has he had a chance to check his posterior when patti’s crying out ‘that man stole my purse’ (cheeky fuck) and a whopping great thug is barrelling into him. he tumbles to the ground for the second time, a wounded howl ripping from his lungs (never know when shaheen baig’s going to be in the local area scouting for the next ‘dunkirk’...) deep and drawn out from the diaphragm until it edges into vocal fry in the way that only a former choral scholar’s voice works. “what the fuck. get off me, you oaf.” a scramble of limbs; his assailant (ted from landscaping) attempting to find the bag in question, monty landing a knee to the groin, until they’re both breathless. “it was a fucking joke, alright?” monty pants out, while ted’s apologies run right off his skin. “a christmas joke. jesus christ. what the fuck is wrong with you?” monty feels around to check if he’s bleeding from his spine. instead, he’s bleeding from the nose in gushing red rivulets, his hand flying up to squeeze it between his forefinger and thumb. as ted struggles to his feet, monty rolls onto his back, a scuffed knee hugged to his chest, like neymar faking a foul ─ and despite the very real (if somewhat overegged) there’s still a part of him that’s asking is my performance believable? are the audience buying this? “you’re a fucking piece of work, fontaine.” monty breathes out as she spills into his vision, an elfin little demon with a wind up toy where their moral compass should sit. “not playing with you any more if you’re gonna be like this.” wrong. he’ll always play with her, and this is still a continuation of the game. it’s only when patti’s close enough to tig him that his hand snaps out like something from a horror film and latches behind her knee, tugs so hard it’s buckling and she’s tumbling down on top of him, teeth speckled red as he laughs with a mouthful of blood.
juliet blinks back at him from the edge of the group he's addressing, looking between their ( self appointed? ) tour guide and her fellow transfers with a look on her face somewhere between surprise and confusion. she's getting some… interesting vibes. that's for sure. with one more glance around the group, she half-raises her hand, waiting patiently for an acknowledgement before speaking up. “hi, two questions.” nobody else seems keen to ask any. maybe there's a social cue she's missing. actually, that's probably exactly the case. “first, what and where is the rabbithole?” she has her guesses based on that five o'clock comment — but a little bit of context on what's supposed to be a tour would be nice. “and second, was that supposed to be a joke? because it wasn't very funny — or nice.” strong sense of justice strikes again.
his immediate instinct is to circle his arms around their shoulders, take her under his wing like he’s big bird and she’s elmo, swaddle her in his bright yellow flowers and say well lookie here, love, you’re not in yank town any more, in his best cornish accent, but he feels like he’ll probably get cancelled or social justice warrior-ed or hung drawn and quartered or something, so all he actually does is smile and keep his restless fingers to himself. “it’s a little hole out in the woods. you burrow into it. like a rabbit.” with his hands, he demonstrates, scratching at invisible earth. “you burrow down as far as you can go, then we fill it in with soil, and when you can’t take it any more you can scream and we’ll get you out, and the amount of time you’re down there determines your social status, what you eat, who you get to hang out with, the pecking order when it comes to silent study... but if you refuse to do it, you get a forfeit, and the forfeit’s even worse. it’s like a bushtucker trial. d’you know what a bushtucker trial is?” of course she doesn’t — she’s just got off the boat. she’s a baby to this country, fresh-faced kate winslet at the start of the film with her bright ideas about fairness and equality, and monty wants to gobble her up in one bite. “nah, i’m fucking with you. it’s a pub.” his wrist jerks, miming the action of knocking back a pint. “c’mon. what do you drink?” monty asks, breezing towards the door to pull it open for the line of stragglers. “first round’s on me.”
piper: oh! hi anica.
piper: i don't save anyone's number. if it was really important, i'd remember it. or i'd find another way to get in touch.
piper: [replied to: "how was the flight for you? are you..."] sort of. I fell asleep for most of it. felt like a whole civilisation fell in the time I was asleep, and when I woke up, a new one had risen from the ashes.
piper: do you think it's the body that lags, or the soul that takes a while to catch up?
piper: [replied to: "you don't happen to have any spare trainers or any..."] you came to England and you didn't bring sneakers?
piper: I'm a 9.
humming in agreement to hide her anxiety . magdalena was excited , overjoyed to be at a new school and face a new challenge and a new crowd . at the very least , she'd get a new bragging point . a funny story to tell her friends back home when she'd return on holiday breaks . laughing with wine glasses clutched lightly in their hands as they cooed and awed over her adventurous life . but that excitement carved a hole , hidden deep beneath her bones and muscles and organs . a hole perfectly fitted to house her anxiety and nervousness and fear that something might go wrong , destroying her dreams of grandeur for the future . " you think so ? think they're not watching us and waiting for a reason to kick us out to preserve the integrity of their school ? " piper's words were a comfort to her , grounding her into reality . " impulsive ? no , i like to think things through . " she did what she wanted when she wanted , but she thought each action through , making sure it would reflect well on her and reflect back at those in her surroundings . the last sentence sent a shiver down her spine , stilling her beating heart for just a moment . " is it so wrong i'm inquisitive ? " words spoken slowly and carefully as she twisted the pendent in her fingers to ease her nerves .
before piper can stifle it, her scoff comes hard as a dart shot straight from a stun gun. “there’s a guy selling a book titled oil and orgasm. what integrity?” langston had integrity. comparatively this place, while charming with it’s sprawling estates and old-money architecture, feels more like a creche for overgrown, privileged teenagers who think creating worthwhile art involves spelling out expletives with their own bodily fluids. “i’m not impulsive either. i mean, sometimes i have impulses, but i rarely act on them.” she could count a hundred times she’s wanted to kiss someone and kept the impulse trapped like a bird on her tongue. “i’m trying to be more like the quakers. speak only when moved to.” not that it’s translating into action. attention half on the tour, and half on the irritating overspill of “inquisitive’s good. i think we should never get to a place where we don’t question our environment. when you’re complacent is when you’re most easily manipulated.” piper fixes magda with an unblinking stare — the first time she’s looked directly into her eyes — then plucks a packet of trail mix from her pocket and shakes a scattering of nuts into the centre of her palm. “walnuts are my favourites. i’m kind of obsessed with the fact that they’re good for your brain, and they look like little brains.” she lifts one up between her finger and thumb, uses it to block out the sunlight where it filters through the window, a halo spilling around the edge of the nut. “how could you look at that and not be curious about the world?”
── ( jacob elordi. twenty-five. demi-boy. he/they. ) thank god you’re here, man - have you seen MONTGOMERY ‘MONTY’ LENNOX anywhere? i totally lost them after their rendition of stuck in the middle with you by stealers wheel last night. no? they’re like, aye - high and go to PALLADIAN - i think they’re a SOPHOMORE studying ACTING AND THEATRE? but who knows, these days. all i know is that they’re DEBONAIR, FRUITY and a SAGGITARIUS. last night they kept going on and on about how they won MOST LIKELY TO BREAK INTO A SHAKESPEAREAN SOLILOQUY WHEN LITERALLY NO ONE ASKED last year, which is cool and whatever, but i just wouldn’t expect it out of them, considering they’re so, like, FLIPPANT AND RAKISH, you know? anyways - i’m going to check down by the rabbithole, i think that’s where they like to hang. text me if you see them, okay? bye! / as penned by nora. 29. gmt.
[ a humble pinterest. ] [ what he’s blasting thru his headphones ]
full name — montgomery ambrose lennox
nickname(s) — moose (if you were in his school ‘rugger’ team), lennox (if you’re posh and insufferable), monty (to everyone else)
place of birth — his family estate in buckinghamshire, england
date of birth & age — december 20th & twenty-five
gender / pronouns — demi-boy & he/they
sexuality — pansexual
major — acting & theatre
university — palladian university, bath, uk
languages — english, passable french, enough italian to order expensive wine, enough latin to look impressive but not actually be useful
astrology — sagittarius sun, libra moon, leo rising
residence — palladio hall, suite four.
accent — posh, a little lazy, like he’s amused by his own existence. a voice that makes everything sound like a joke, even when he’s being serious.
interests — himself (most of the time), expensive cologne, quoting famous authors he hasn’t actually read, winning people over without trying, short shorts a la paul mescal, performing just enough vulnerability to be interesting, slogan caps, britney spears-esque t-shirts that read ‘dump him’ and ‘i’m a virgin (this is an old shirt)’, reading poetry but only if someone’s watching him (do u remember that viral video of a guy outside a coffee shop in london reading a book about feminism but he kept looking up to make sure ppl were noticing… ya that’s monty), hitting someone’s vape at a party but only smoking golden virginia rollies otherwise, adding you on co-star just to tell you that your charts are incompatible but like in a sexy toxic way, cabernet sauvignon which he calls cabby sav, giving things that don’t need nicknames a nickname e.g. ‘rugger’ instead of rugby and ‘brekky’ instead of breakfast, lego - its good to build something with your hands, going to london to buy a heat magazine, grand romantic gestures that mean nothing, disappearing to europe for months without notice, calling the local supermarket ‘the tuck shop’, artfully dishevelled hair, waking up in unfamiliar places #quirky, watching people unravel completely at parties, ascot, mispronouncing the names of authors and theatre practitioners to make people wince as a subtle form of undermining them, speaking in simlish when his parents try to orchestrate a serious conversation until they leave him alone, jazzy piano music in dimly lit rooms, sharing a key of ket in a tiny bathroom…. romantic, being seen at the right places, mischief, razor scooters, ‘vintage’ nintendo ds games.
aversions — earnestness without irony, bad coffee, people who take theatre too seriously - mate we are literally all just having a laff, mornings, the devastating idea of having to work a real job (thankfully it probs wont happen), boat shoes, people who don’t have at least one shit tattoo because have you really lived, being ignored in group chats, reading and comprehending whatever play he’s in when he can simply just search ‘titus andronicus summary’ on tiktok and get some twenty-two year old influencer to spoon feed him, being expected to explain himself, the countryside (boring), small talk that doesn’t serve him in some way
notable features — perpetually tousled hair that somehow always looks like he just stepped off a yacht, the kind of posh where you can’t tell if he’s slumming it ironically or just genuinely incapable of basic life skills, hands that are annoyingly nice—slender, long-fingered, the kind that belong in oil paintings, smells like expensive cologne but only when he remembers to wear it. otherwise, a mix of cigarettes, gin, and whatever overpriced body wash he steals from his friend’s bathroom. laughs in a way that makes people want to know what’s funny even if they’re the joke.
quirks — keeps an actual pocket watch but swears it’s ironic. bookshelf curated entirely based on booktok suggestions and what the goth girlies are logging on storygraphs.
general disposition — charming, carefree, unpredictable, debonair, indulgent, hedonistic, sharp but apathetic, deeply unserious but somehow compelling
character study — dexter mayhew (one day), benedict bridgerton (bridgerton), tony stonem (skins), puck (a midsummer night’s dream), peter pan (if he had a trust fund), rupert graves as freddy honeychurch in a room with a view, jude law in the talented mr ripley, dominic cooper as dakin in the history boys, the riot club film, daniel cleaver (bridget jones diary), saxon (the white lotus), every rich disaster boy in literature, robert pattinson lying in interviews, honestly probably subconsciously a bit of felix from saltburn if i am honest but originally i had a different fc in mind so…. dont shoot me i promise he’s v different n much more fruity n chaotic, tom sturridge, max irons and calum lynch’s posh actor family.
history.
monty is pretty classic in terms of the posh british privately educated to actor pipeline. went to harrow but got almost no GCSEs n wasn’t allowed to continue there for sixth form so he transferred to rugby school for a levels bcos their dad was an alumnus and managed to wrangle it on the basis of ‘talent’ and the promise that monty would not only join the rugby team (they were in desperate need of a solid lock / back to stop them getting thrashed cos frankly embarrassing tht the school that invented rugby cldnt win any games) but he’d also be in the choir and the theatre society. that way they cld take his grades (or lack thereof) with a pinch of salt and be like !! its about culture !! its about giving an opportunity to those who are gifted in other areas like running around w the strength of a horse and singing like an angel!!! anyways he did his a levels in theatre studies, classics and english and then off he went to thailand for several years to find himself, but im skipping ahead…..
dad is anthony lennox, a barrister who frequently makes headlines for representing v juicy clients. he’ll blame his gender issues on the fact tht his dad has to wear a wig and robe to work. monty calls him ‘big tone’ much to his father’s chagrin or ‘your honour’ when he’s being a cunt.
monty’s dad is scottish, but speaks in received pronunciation when addressing the court. they follow a few scottish traditions in their home (monty goes absolutely nuts for burns night) but other than that he doesn’t feel that connected to his scottish heritage or rlly care about it. he does however have some cousins who live in a lovely little castle half an hour outside of edinburgh who he visits twice a year for a fuck off massive party.
his mother, hetty lennox, is a retired actress turned philanthropist. she also breeds cocker spaniels as a hobby. because of this monty has an intense love of dogs and is incredibly good at handling them. cannot pass a dog without stroking it. has been bitten by several dogs. has no fear of rabies. will be bitten by the canine unit without a doubt. they HATE to see him coming.
parents live in a very big house in the country and have several ‘trusts’ to help them maintain their stately home. sold part of the house to the national trust about 14 years ago when they hit some financial hardship bcos it was either that or lose the house.
monty is the youngest of three siblings!! their older brothers both have very impressive jobs and lives and are married now, n monty is the cunt of the litter literally everyone has given up hope on him ever making something of himself. despite monty’s mum having worked as an actor, there’s def a double-standard around it and it’s not seen as a real job. hetty was always going to marry rich so its v much seen as a ‘hobby’ job for her, but now that monty’s going down the same route his dad’s kinda pissed. a lot of family dinners end with arguments about how monty’s had the best education money can buy and he’s wasting it on becoming an actor which is ‘basically prostitution’ n monty’s like well, big tone, if the shoe fits, wear it 🙂 honestly ive been watching the white lotus recently and the ratcliff family are verrrrry monty’s family (sans the weird energy between the siblings)
one of their older brothers, edwin, is an orthodontist and the other, hector, is a ruthless journalist who was involved in the phone hacking scandals in 2011. this is basically the reason the family came into financial hardship and they had to sell part of the house bcos it kinda fucked the whole family’s reputation for a bit n monty’s dad was written off work for several months with stress.
he absolutely has that invulnerable youngest child syndrome because their mum ALWAYS took monty’s side when they got into a scrap with their brothers because he was young and didn’t know better and his older siblings should be role models, and monty would eat it up every time. he could get away with MURDER growing up and his brothers used to call him the golden boy and take the piss and monty wld jst laugh. definitely his mums favourite. his dad on the other hand…… fractious.
there are certain wings of the house that are now public museums. monty used to love it as a kid n wld often lead tours just stating incomprehensible garbage at groups of visitors like yeah we used to own panthers and make them fight to the death in this room but then those slippery bastards from PETA started showing up so now it happens in the dungeon room instead. wld claim wild garbage abt how certain wings were out of bounds for his parents’ elaborate orgies with members of the tory cabinet which were obviously lies bcos his parents were the most prudish fucks ever.
monty doesnt rlly consider himself 'from' anywhere bcos he spent a lot of his childhood ping-ponged between different boarding schools. his family have a house in bucks (where he spent most of his youth) surrounded by countryside but a short train from london. that was like... the main house n honestly is more upkeep than its worth so they have to make income off it by leasing it to film and tv companies every now n then or doing tours of the home n garden.
they also hav a townhouse in belgravia bcos montys dad used 2 work in LDN a lot with him being a barrister and frequently has to be there for important cases, bt if monty ws goin partying in mayfair or whtever he'd likely stay there. they escaped to london at every chance they got because they found the countryside so dull n dreary, but now with the benefit of hindsight, monty looks back on the buckinghamshire house with a kind of idyllic nostalgia.
lots of generational wealth mostly in the form of assets so claims he’s middle class bcos he can’t rlly access a lot of his generational wealth (even tho he has a trust fund) will always be like ‘yea but it’s basically nothing when it boils down to it because cozzy livs…. (cost of living crisis… he luvs to shorten words)
family are all ex oxbridge and cambridge and every summer they used to go and watch the cambridge/oxford boat race. both of their older brothers were in the rowing teams when they were at oxford and cambridge, and so was their dad, and it was always kind of said ‘this will be you one day, monty.’
unforch monty was rejected from every university he applied to and only accepted into palladian due to his family being donors and his dad pulling some strings (begging). also someone from the theatre dept is friends w his mum from back in their RADA days (mum is a former actress) and saw his school production of king herod (think the posh school in nativity if you’ve seen that) when monty was 8 and thought tht he showed great promise (was cute) so she also spoke to the theatre department to recommend him. monty was in a few adverts as a small child n played the young version of colin firth in a film (claim to fame) for like 2 scenes bt wouldnt be notable for it tbh.
lots of actors in his family similar to max irons n calum lynch where its like. an acting dynasty. but they can afford to do that because they have the money and connections. his mum was a theatrical actress, esteemed for her portrayal of hamlet, the first woman to do so at the RSC so its in his blood. she was in a few small indie films, and was a recurring character in the british tv show morse when she lived in oxford (where she met monty’s dad), but never hit the big time rlly. a few of his cousins are actors n u might recognise them if u saw them in somethin but u wldn't necessarily be able to think of their name kind of famous.
bcos of industry connections, acting seemed like a natural succession for him bcos he didnt rlly have any ambitions and did briefly consider trying other things (composing, becoming a travel writer, opening a gourmet sandwich shop) but hasn't been classically trained in it yet. did a couple of week-long workshops n summer schools at rada and lamda but decided traditional drama school training was too intense for him and he wouldn’t be able to be in central london at 8am every day.
didn't start uni until he was 22. spent from 18 - 22 ‘travelling’ and ‘finding himself’ in bali and thailand and spunking his parents money up the walls until they got sick of him n were like. pull urself together and make something of urself!!! n so he had to decide wht to do w his life. n acting combined loving attention, being a slut, dressing up in silly outfits and kind of being to do whatever he wants as long as its in the name of 'art'
has no ambitions really at all but he likes attention, and people have always told him he’s good looking so he decided to do acting. played king herod in his school nativity. sang robbie williams ‘angels’ in his school talent show and 3 girls asked him out. got a lot of clout for his portrayals of fagin in fiddler on the roof and puck in a midsummer nights dream so was like fair enough maybe we’ll give this a shot. that’s basically his experience. no formal training at all.
it’s probs mad infuriating to other ppl on his major who have been working on their craft for years to just have this freak swan in like staniwhoski? and he always seems to get cast in a relatively good role bcos he’s tall, dark, handsome n has a kind of magnetic quality abt him where ppl want to watch him and their eyes are naturally drawn to him because he’s massively tall. has Stage Presence. simon cowell would probably tell him that he has the x factor.
often a scene stealer bcos he will literally just invent lines for his characters on the spot which is obvs also mad infuriating to others in the play with him bcos then suddenly they just have to riff?? this isnt fuckin improv u cunt, its shakespeare. u cant mess with shakespeare. but monty wld just shrug and be like i think he’d want it this way tbh. i think i understand him better than you do, actually. he wrote for the people in the taverns, actually, not the stuffy academics. i’m the people in the tavern. just you try getting me out of the pub x
literally never knows his fuckin lines until right before he goes on stage n then just rips it out the bag but for the whole rehearsal process he is a NIGHTMARE to work with.
context / fun facts
u know those viral tiktoks of guys sat smoking outside a coffee shop reading a book and smoking a cig but looking around every 10 seconds to check if anyone's falling in lov with them or going to ask them about their book ?? that's monty coded
has a lot of silly ridiculous hobbies. fencing, polo, cricket, rowing, shooting the shit at the driving range, literally every wanky posh person hobby u can think of monty has prob tried his hand at bcos he races thru hobbies (suspected adhd) and doesn’t rlly commit to anything. the only ones he’s somewhat stuck at are fencing (useful for stage combat), rowing (looks cool) and horseback riding (friend to all animals)
he kind of excels at things without trying (socialising, performing, getting away with everything) but under the charm, there’s this like…. unsettling detachment?
he isn’t stupid, not by a long shot (altho he sometimes acts more stupid than he is…), but he’s never rlly had to fight for anything, which makes him fundamentally quite restless, reckless, and bored and also he doesn’t really see the value in anything. university’s just like this massive playground where he gets to be the main role again.
nickname at his all boys private school was ‘moose’. he never elaborates on why but u can prob figure it out.
refers to people by surnames a lot, a tradition inherited from boarding school. but also loves to give people a ridiculous nickname.
sometimes says things that are a bit tone deaf and nobody really pulls them up on it. i think going to palladian is a bit of a culture shock tbh n monty's often like goddddd u literally can't say anyyyyyythng ppl are soooo sensitive when he probs jst made a really elitist comment or smthn about class tht was jst..... a bit silly.
kind of has a soft spot for people who are lost causes or nothing like the people he grew up around.
very into charli xcx. loves pop music and will not be shamed for that. loves a dance. you'll always catch him in the pub or in the club and rolling into lectures late, hungover, and with a hickey.
flirts as if life is a game of cat and mouse, but he’s both the cat and the mouse.
once got out of an entire critical essay evaluating his performance by saying, ‘i am the performance’ (a la lorraine getting out of her tax bill by saying that ‘lorraine is a bubbly character she performs’ - sorry for my niche british references). the biggest bullshitter you know.
has woken up in a foreign country more than once after too many drinks. haha so random lol
def fancied (unethically) by a few of his lecturers and 100% uses this to his advantage. a shameless flirt with all staff in the palladian drama department tbh.
has an almost supernatural ability to find the best afterparties without rlly trying.
is weirdly into gen z internet culture—watches tiktoks about attachment styles, makes memes about gauche behavior, once bought a stanley cup ironically.
family friend of fred again.. lmfao. his mum is also mates with dolly alderton.
can’t cook to save his life (who needs to when you have a private chef) but he will make you his ‘famous eggs’ (they are just eggs).
very into the concept of luck, probably because he’s always believed himself to have luck on his side. if he can’t decide between two things he’ll flip a coin or roll a dice. likes to gamble. it’s just a bit of excitement.
collects vintage rugby jerseys even tho he doesn’t play any more, he just likes the ‘vibe’
has gone to glastonbury every year since he was 16 without fail (and you’re telling me nepotism doesn’t exist…..)
a bit self-obsessed, but who else are they gonna b obsessed with??
loves tattoos but not enough to limit the acting roles he can get. he has one that says ‘bottom’ on his left ass cheek that he got on a lads holiday to the maldives during sixth form and another that’s in thai writing and he’s not actually sure what it says so he makes it up every time.
sometimes disappears at parties just to emerge again in full period costume and stage an improvised play with friends. always wants to either be entertaining or to be entertained.
loves a slutty little sweater vest. loves a little bolo tie. loves a paul mescal short short. honestly his fashion is all over the place. u can see examples on the pinterest. dresses entirely differently around his family to when he’s at uni, tho. being in bath is seen to monty as an opportunity to let loose and be a more feral version of himself.
loves to dress up in a silly little costume. likes a big puffy sleeve, a toga, CHAINMAIL, always chooses the classic plays over contemporary ones if he has the option. has a cunty little chainmail hood that he has been known to wear on a night out, or should i say knight out..... u have to find joy where u can.
claims annie lennox is his aunt (she isnt) but was actually related to four famous sisters called the lennox sisters who were 18th century aristocrats and one of them was a communist. wasn’t in the arm of the family that became the gordon-lennox aristocrats unforch, was the other side of the family who were still wealthy but lost their titles and if you get a few beers down him i’m sure he’ll harp on about how he could’ve been an aristocrat.
doesn’t know how to sit in a chair like a normal person. a lounger. always lounging on steps or a chaise long.
broke an actual human skull that had been donated to the palladian theatre department by a former student and monty broke it once practicing their ‘alas poor yorick’ monologue so now they are only allowed to handle the props when the prop master is watching them like a hawk
explained what sharted was to teacher once without shame. #notallheroeswearcapes #noshame
wanted plots.
has a lot of admirers and is generally quite popular among the palladian students (not necessarily by the theatre department though) either because people think he’s a right laugh or that he doesn’t take himself or life too seriously or because they can tell he’s wealthy and like the fact that he always buys everyone a drink. probably has a few friends who stick around him because he has money and sometimes that can be a bit intoxicating to be around. the kind of lifestyle he leads. so some one-sided friendships or transactional friendships could def be interesting as monty just wouldn’t expect that at all. he largely takes people at face value.
at the same time as seeming quite outwardly confident and charismatic, i think that can also be polarising for some people and maybe some characters wld be like fuck this smarmy guy he’s cocky as fuck.
i rlly want a rivalry between him and someone (or multiple people) in the theatre department because i think tht would be so juicy. maybe he got a role they thought they were destined for. maybe he once fucked them over by improv’ing a line when they were meant to have a really iconic line and then they couldn’t say it because contextually it didn’t make sense.. just like a petty rivalry where to them its everything.
has a tendency to favour flings over relationships and not always the best at communicating. maybe he had a one night stand or a situationship with ur character and then ghosted. maybe he asked them to go for a walk with him through bath after a shag and then ran away a la paul mescal rumour on tiktok. maybe they went on a few dates but then it became apparent monty wasn’t ready for anything serious and so they broke it off n now monty kinda regrets it a bit potentially (but not for long as monty doesn’t rlly have time for regrets…. onwards, steed)
at the same time, despite being unserious about most of his relationships (sans school boy friends bc brothers for life… potential plot….) he can also be quite intense. he’d casually be like ‘we should go on holiday together’ after fucking you once and mean it but at the same time not want a relationship or anything from it. genuinely just there for the vibes.
can’t see him being in any kind of long-term meaningful wholesome relationship with anyone tbh but that doesn’t mean you can’t try.
someone to do fencing and horseback riding and all his silly hobbies with. would looooove someone he either went to boarding school with or their boarding schools played rugby / cricket / whatever against each other once (if uk based)
has never felt truly, deeply seen by anyone? a part of him would really like to be known on a deeper level but i think his tendency to treat everything with flippancy like it’s all a laugh can definitely make people think he’s not actually deep. i think if someone tried to crack him open and see some vulnerability that would be really interesting.
tense friendships where they want to support him but sometimes he can make such fucking awful decisions that it’s hard not to be like are u dumb? are u actually clapped in the head?
im tired af but will think of more<3 pls msg me for plots n i’ll lov u forever.
── ( zendaya. twenty-three. cis-woman. she/her. ) thank god you’re here, man - have you seen PIPER ADEYEMI anywhere? i totally lost them after their rendition of ancient gregorian chants performed by benedictine monks. no? they’re like, aye - high and go to LANGSTON - i think they’re a SENIOR studying HISTORICAL LINGUISTICS, MYTHOLOGY AND OCCULT STUDIES? but who knows, these days. all i know is that they’re INTENSE, MAGNETIC, and a AQUARIUS. last night they kept going on and on about how they won MOST LIKELY TO CONDUCT FUNERARY RITES FOR A DEAD PET WITH ANCIENT VIKING RITUALS last year, which is cool and whatever, but i just wouldn’t expect it out of them, considering they’re so, like, CLANDESTINE AND TENACIOUS, you know? anyways - i’m going to check down by franklin & brown antiques, i think that’s where they like to hang. text me if you see them, okay? bye! / as penned by nora. 29. gmt. [ a humble pinterest. ] [ playlist. ]
full name — pipeloluwa adeyemi
nickname(s) — piper (pip to her grandparents)
place of birth — new orleans, louisiana
date of birth & age — february 9 & twenty-four
gender / pronouns — cis woman & she/her
major — historical linguistics & mythology. minoring in occult studies
university — langston, upstate new york
languages — fluently: english, yoruba, french; reading only: latin, old norse, middle english, akkadian (sort of) and currently learning british sign language.
astrology — aquarius sun, scorpio moon, virgo rising
residence — lavender, suite one, castle fell.
interests — taxidermy (ethically sourced only), death rituals from different cultures (egyptian mummification, victorian post-mortem photography, medieval bone chapels, yoruba ancestral veneration), ancient manuscripts that feel like they’ve been fondled by hundreds of now-dead hands, new orleans cemeteries, trade unions and collective bargaining power, wild swimming, weird museums like the hunterian where they keep bits of dead humans in jars, the ten minutes at the end of a yoga session where you get to just lie on the ground, translating things just to see if they sound better in another language, solitary nighttime walks through the woods, spending all day looking at weird shit in franklin and browns antiques, midnight swims, japanese industrial music, domesticating subway rats, intense philosophical debates at a house party, running at 5am before the rest of the world wakes up, drinking black coffee from delicate little teacups, dressing like haute couture interpretation of archaeologist, teddies with their eyes falling out, the smell of her grandmother’s kitchen and the recipe books with handwritten addendums in she keeps there.
aversions — bright led lights, love island, reality tv generally, people who take selfies at historical sites, being asked what job she’s planning on doing with her degree, receiving a text rather than a handwritten letter embossed with a wax seal, cheap tacky halloween décor and poorly executed costumes, zoom calls, anyone who doesn't believe in ghosts, people who touch things in museums that should not be touched, small talk about the weather when you could be discussing death rites, holes in socks.
notable features — dresses with the eccentric elegance of someone who found an old trunk full of forgotten heirlooms in someone’s attic at an estate sale and decided to make it her entire personality. an incredible poker face, especially when playing competitive games. doesn’t always fully explain herself, n speaks in riddles sometimes just to mess with people (if you didn’t understand it then you weren’t meant to). claiming that ‘the gods are angry’ but never specifying which gods.
quirks — soldering. she’s currently learning to make her own jewellery out of silver, and often gives her friends rings made out of the handle of a spoon, or finds a cool stone and then makes a delicate little cage to go around it. always carries a worn leather journal around with her, and an antique fountain pen that writes in emerald ink. collects grave rubbings from old cemeteries to stop their names from being eroded. leaves secret notes for her friends in their coat pockets or under their pillows that nobody ever seems to see her actually distribute. owns multiple preserved animal skulls, a set of human teeth, and a victorian mourning brooch with real hair inside.
general disposition — guarded and kinda hard to read, unconventional, quietly magnetic, intense but selectively warm, deeply private yet somehow well-connected, sometimes in that weird adrenaline-induced state that comes from a lack of sleep.
character study — lottie matthews (yellowjackets), camilla macaulay (the secret history), katrina van tassel (sleepy hollow) the lyrics of florence welch, david lynch’s filmography, morticia addams, susie bannion (2018 suspiria), marianne (normal people), blue sergeant (the raven cycle) virginia woolf but if she had a substack, the magnetic but kind of eccentric older sister in a gothic novel who disappears mysteriously in chapter three n the protagonist spends the rest of the novel trying to work out what happened to them, weird girl (frankenweenie), allison reynolds (the breakfast club), ginger (gingersnaps), samantha (bunny by mona atwad), oregon (fresh meat)
history.
grew up in the garden district in new orleans in a pre-war townhouse rental with a rotating cast of artists, grad students, and an ageing tortoiseshell cat named bobbin. piper’s the only child of two professors at tulane. her dad is a professor specialising in african diaspora studies and nigerian languages and her mum’s an architect, so words, language and history have always been incredibly important to her.
the house she grew up in had a whole library room. they were always hosting various academics guest lecturing from other unis so she was always surrounded by culture and literature and academia.
as a kid, she could recite yoruba proverbs before she fully understood them, and although her parents were both born in the states, they’ve always been determined to keep her dad’s heritage as part of her identity. equally, she wld often point out different architectural styles while cycling through the quarter and tidbits of info gobbled up from her mum over the years.
was always a very weird kid who spoke with a wisdom well beyond her years due to mostly socialising with university professors and academics and anthropologists and not really having any friends her own age. being a student at langston is kinda the first time in her life she’s felt like she fitted in with people her own age and could connect with them.
dinner conversation ranged from pre-colonial west africa to how vowel shifts reveal cultural migration patterns n she used to just sit there totally enamoured by her parents. really values intelligence in people and wants to surround herself by curious ppl.
unlike her parents who saw history as a purely academic pursuit, piper saw it as something alive and constantly being rewritten and got really into spending hours on wikipedia learning everything about the fall of the berlin wall or the cult of personality in stalin’s rise to leadership. i wld say she’s incredibly knowledgeable about stuff and is often making wild references to periods in history and philosophy texts but that wld involve me doin loads of research and im employed so i cant do tht you’ll just have to imagine it<3
was a pleasure to have in class in ever sense of the word. quiet, tenacious, well-mannered. their only ever criticism was that she should maybe raise her hand more. didn’t really have a large circle of friends at all and everyone kind of viewed her as this clever freak, kinda like marianne in normal people, so going to langston was probably the first time she felt like she had friends who actually got her and what she was about and had similar interests. before langston, most of her friends were academic pals of her parents or local retirees she befriended in public parks.
she first got into learning other languages for fun because she wanted to read beowulf in the old english n from there it just kinda spiralled.….. developed an all-consuming crush on a french girl from in her history class who she thought was just so so smart and literally spent months learning french so she could ask her out in french without anyone knowing. tragically, she turned out to be straight. piper never forgave her for it tbh, but at least she can speak french now.
wasn’t a hundred percent on what she wanted to study or where for ages after graduating high school. originally had a place to study linguistics at columbia but turned it down last minute cos she wasn’t sure it was right for her.
spent a year working in the university library at tulane, and then worked in the new orleans pharmacy museum for a bit which she tried to unionize several times to no avail. eventually got a job at the museum of death, six months before she was due to start her degree at langston, which was like the jackpot for her honestly. she nearly didn’t leave to go to uni because she loved it so bad but she also doesn’t just wanna work front of house forever and would maybe like to do some lecturing and write papers on the occult and ancient languages, and is hoping that by the time she’s finished her degree she’ll be in a better position to negotiate a different role, maybe even in the curatorial team. still helps out on front of house in the summers when she’s off school.
decided on langston instead. the course in historical languages and mythology and option to minor in occult studies just felt totally up her street
still isn’t sure what she’s going to do with her incredibly expensive historical languages, mythology and occult studies degree and absolutely hates being asked about it, but really wants to either go into academia and teach at a uni herself (even tho it feels like a cop out as that’s what her dad does) or to work freelance as a curator for exhibitions and maybe do some translating work on the side.
context / fun facts.
not a mobile phone girlie AT ALL but has a four year duolingo streak (french and latin).
believes certain objects carry ‘energy’ and will tell you when the energy feels off, even if it’s just a “these vibes are whack” kinda deal.
once convinced a professor to let her write an entire thesis in an extinct language n got full marks.
most of her friends back home in new orleans are over fifty and friends of her parents, or just literally retired ppl she met in parks. doesn’t really have any pals her own age apart from danger bob (nickname he refers to himself by) a fellow museum attendant who invited her along to his dungeons and dragons campaign.
when her goldfish died she buried it with egyptian funerary rites, complete with tiny canopic jars. takes death very seriously.
lies about being well-off in an attempt to seem more down to earth. has previously told ppl she got into langston on a scholarship which… its just not true. kind of cosplaying as working class a bit.
hoards candles and incense and always burns sage after an argument. has so many little rituals and piperisms. carries salt in her back pocket to ward off bad spirits. wld roll her eyes if u asked her abt it like ya old wives tale blah blah but still kinda believes it. sleeps w a dagger under her pillow..... always be prepared....
fashion incredibly important to her even tho her dress sense is like.... child chorus from oliver the musical meets videogame set in a sustainable fashion-forward dystopia. loves wearing big genderless clothes. tweed blazers and suits feature heavily, all of which r covered in pin badges and ribbons and lace trims. has loads of sets of gloves n usually has gloves on her person if not wearing them bcos can be quite weird around the textures of certain things. fingers are always full of big chunky rings with crystals and birth stones in them over the top of little lace gloves.
growing her hair long enough to be used as a rope to one day get her out of prison where she is a political prisoner for speaking her truth. malala and greta thunberg are two of her heroes. usually her hair is in long plaits tied with lots and lots of ribbons.
wears multiple watches all set to different time zones. won't be taking questions on this.
known to figure out people's big three within moments of speaking to them.
has befriended half the elderly population of upstate new york while at langston because she finds their stories more interesting than those of her peers (weird n offputting she/theys excluded……)
currently writing a poetry collection for one of her mythology modules and every poem in the collection gives a voice to a previously silenced figure in greek mythology e.g. daphne that girl who was turned into a tree bcos she didnt want to have sex w zeus or whatever it was idk.
piper herself also gives wood nymth from yesteryear transposed into the body of a gen z desperately trying to blend in and pretend she knows what a tiktok is despite the fact that she has never and will never own a tiktok
terrible at responding to texts but will send you a six-minute voice note while parading the halls at 3am. an insomniac, truly. nightly engaging in sleepwalking activities akin to lady macbeth…… hope she can find a simpy king to manipulate<3 (wanted connect maybe.......)
has the most interesting bookshelf you’ve ever seen—filled with occult texts, ancient poetry, and an alarming amount of taxidermy manuals. keen observer of kieran’s rituals lets go taxidermy icons.
cares a lot about ethics and what's right and wrong and but isn't very good at understanding feelings or having a lot of empathy sometimes. also not very good at naming what exactly it is she's feeling, and tends to oscillate between feeling quite stable (if slightly dissociated) and then jst feeling everything everywhere all at once and not rlly knowing how to deal with it and in those circumstances she usually has to go for a mental health walk or will literally jst strip off like a byronic hero in an austen novel n jump into a body of water.....
terrible at putting herself out there romantically tbh (yes this is a challenge - rise to it. give me a romantic subplot i dare u). doesn’t really centralize romantic relationships and is more interested in her connection to the earth and spirituality.
every now and then she’ll get completely fucking obsessed and infatuated with someone (tends to have only a few key people in her life ever and can sometimes attach on to certain people like This Is My Person - percy is def one of them for her) but her way of flirting is to just stare neurodivergently.
can’t deal w loud noises or bright lights well. incredibly sensitive to changes in her environment. always has sunglasses and earplugs in her pocket.
the only exception to this is when she purposefully elects to engage in an environment which is loud. for example, piper primarily listens to folk music in other languages and choral chanting music, but not many ppl know this but piper is also very into techno, house music, japanese industrial music. she’s drawn primarily to those genres (as well as scandinavian music, folk music in other languages) because either there aren’t any words, or she can’t understand them well enough to cling onto. she wants music to be a place where she is free from thoughts not connecting to some sad as fuck line phoebe bridgers says about waiting for the next time someone wants her like a dog with a bird at their door. she doesn’t want to be crying at the club.
has gotten into berghain (famous techno club in berlin thats notoriously difficult to get into) 3 times but doesn’t talk about it really
loves the queer club scene even if she spends the majority of it sober dancing on her own. she’s literally there for the music, not to get laid or get drunk or get fucked up. occasionally she might partake in those things but it’s the music she’s there for.
more here soon……….
wanted plots.
had an on-again off-again relationship w a horrible fuckboy (cld be any gender. im picturing a man in my head bc men aint shit bt cld be anyone) in her first year of uni. they were her first kiss, first relationship, n she def put them on a pedestal. was kind of infatuated w them tbh and i think they maybe abused that a lil. the first time she felt religious devotion for a peer. wld loved to see this personally and see how she behaves around someone who she’s let in past her 6 armoured layers of protection (n they r probs also the reason her walls are up again!)
people who feel like a rock in a river and her brain is the current running through the river and the rocks are just there to slow down the thoughts and remind her to just exist and be. people who ground her. quite literally her rocks. cld be ppl she shares academic ideas with or ppl she legitimately goes down to the lake to swim with (im assuming there is a lake. otherwise where is piper doing her nightly wild swim?? its a ritual)
people who do the opposite and make her kinda stressed out and rabid in a way that pushes and challenges her. maybe she met them in the queer club scene in NY. maybe they’re someone on a similar course to her but from palladian and she literally cant wrap her head around the way they run the course here or maybe they’re academic rivals and they were both like. The Guru who everybody asked questions about the reading to at their college and are now kinda competing for that spot
ppl who challenge her generally. someone she has a really petty silly rivaly with bcos of somthn stupid like they always take out the library books she wants right before she wants them n maybe they know it and are fuckin toyin with her at this point. bonus points if its a genuinely fiendish endeavour. maybe if they're a languages student they prev studied and tulane or took a summer school their n her dad failed one of their papers. maybe they dont even study languages n r just doing it to fuck w her. maybe its a kink thing. maybe they asked her out n she said no so now they're tryin to make her academics fail. world? our oyster.
someone from the languages department who’s got an interest in african languages and maybe read some of her dad’s papers. she wld avoid them like the plague because she doesnt want accusations of nepotism
soft, slow, beautiful, attentive friendships that bring her out of her shell
someone to swordfight with. someone to wake the dead with. someone to chant to the gods of old and read out little poems in their original language like they’re the dead poets society striking their chests and reading out henry david thoreau in a cave
my bread and butter is angst. i love skinny love plots i love doomed by the narrative i love academic rivals who want to kill each other with sharp sticks i love enemies to lovers i love lovers to enemies i love ppl who hate each other so bad but cannot escape being tied to each other forever i love friends who drift apart and cant find a way to still be friends despite their efforts i love unequal power dynamics when someone cares about a friendship or relationship so much more than the other that its eating them alive i love all of the things that are left unsaid in relationships where ppl are so so fond of each other but unwilling or unable to be vulnerable, so i wont lie if u give me something angst i’d love it… we can flesh out what that is together.
