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marvelmusing · 2 years

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Gorgon!Billy Russo x Goddess!Reader

headcanons under the cut

A/N: features brief mentions of sex and violence. Reader is based on Athena, and the gods in this are based on the Greek Gods but it’s a loose inspiration

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Growing up in the group home, one of Billy’s only sources of refuge was reading myths and stories about the old gods and how they used to bless mortals who were dedicated enough.

Several years later, Billy is struggling to keep Anvil afloat. He hadn’t been caught up in the illegal activities of Rawlins, but his old commander’s actions still had an impact on Billy.

He’s walking by a trinket shop when he spots a familiar symbol. The Goddess of Wisdom’s symbol. It’s a dull golden charm, hanging from a thin piece of black string. Something inside him calls out to the charm, and he buys it.

Billy hasn’t had time for reading or hobbies over the years, too busy fighting, trying to stay alive, then create a business for himself. Alone. But after buying the necklace, he feels the urge to go back to the stories he had read as a child.

All the while, he keeps the necklace on, the charm settled next to his beating heart.

He goes to the library, spending hours reading through countless books. Anything about the old gods - but particularly the Wisdom goddess. Original texts. Academic analysis. Poems and plays. Trashy romantic retellings written for teenagers. Billy devours every word of it.

He reads online discourse and debates. He goes to museums and art galleries, admiring how the artists tried to capture the Goddess’ likeness.

Eventually, he finds a summoning spell, to call the Goddess to you. He doesn’t really think it will work, so he tucks it away in his office at Anvil.

He only finds the spell again one Sunday morning when he comes into work, hoping to distract himself from the ache in his chest.

He knew people saw him as a one-time thing. He knew that the girl he’d been flirting with over the last week probably wouldn’t want to stay and have breakfast with him. He would settle for whatever morning sex she wanted and hopefully she’d want to see him again. Because he liked her. He always liked them.

Only for her to wake up and immediately get dressed, telling him she had only gone out with him because her father wanted to make an offer on Anvil.

Now here Billy was, in his office on a Sunday, feeling used, when he wanted to still be in bed with someone who cares about him. Clearly that’s too much to ask for, he thinks bitterly, swiping his papers to the floor in pain-fuelled frustration.

Then he spots the summoning spell.

He draws the complex diagram on a piece of paper, writes his name in the centre, encircled by the many names of the Goddess. Billy says the words of the spell, his tongue pronouncing the syllables clumsily.

He waits for a long moment, looking around for any sense of another presence. He strains his ears, listening for some sort of sign for the God’s. Something to take away the awful ache inside him. To make him feel whole.

Nothing.

Then Billy passes out.

When he comes to, he’s on a cliff top, overlooking the sea. The wind whips at his hair as he looks around wildly. A voice calls out calmly,

“Hello William Russo.”

He turns. You’re sitting on a tree stump, leaning back on your arms as you enjoy the warm glow of the sun on your skin. Your eyes are hooded, due to the brightness, as you look over at him.

The breath catches in Billy’s throat. You’re ethereal. More gorgeous than he could ever imagine. His lips part, and you appear to be amused at his expression. He briefly wonders whether he should kneel at your feet. Then he shakes himself.

“What’s going on? Where am I?”

“You called out to me.” Your voice is soft, and he could listen to you all day long. “So I brought you here, to my island.”

“Why?” You shrug lightly.

“I’ve seen your pursuits, William Russo. It’s been quite some time since a mortal was so dedicated to me.”

The skin over his cheekbones reddens.

“I’ve seen your struggles too. I’d like to make you an offer.” He narrows his eyes. He knows to be wary of the gods and their gifts, but you don’t seem to mean him any harm. “Any mortal that looks at you with ill intentions in their heart will suffer greatly for it.” His stomach flips. That’s what he’s always wanted.

“What’s the catch?”

“You will be bound to this island, and serve here as the protector of my temple for the rest of your life.”

“Temple?”

You point through the trees to where a large marble structure stands, though it looks like it’s seen better days.

“That’s all?” He asks. You nod. He runs it through his mind. He doesn’t have much waiting for him back in his old life. Here, he would have safety, and a purpose, and you. “I’ll do it.”

“Will you swear it?”

“One condition.” You nod. “I want your blessing as well.”

A smile creeps over your lips. You do love it when mortals are clever.

“Done.”

Then Billy swears an oath to remain on your island, and protect your temple for the rest of his life. You step closer to him, asking him to close his eyes. There’s only a moment of hesitation, before he obeys.

Leaning close, you press a featherlight kiss to each of his closed eyelids. Then one on his forehead.

“Say goodbye to your mortality, William Russo.”

He breathes out a nervous laugh.

“I think you can call me Billy, all things considered.” You chuckle quietly, and Billy wants to hear that sound for the rest of his life. You step back, allowing your magic to settle over him.

“Open your eyes then, Billy.”

You smile at your work, taking his hand in yours and leading him towards the temple. There’s an adorable frown of confusion on his face. He doesn’t feel any different.

His eyes widen when you step foot in the temple. High ceilings and beautiful paintings on the walls, now faded with the sun and smudged by rain. Ornate columns and carvings that are crumbling slowly with time. You stop in front of a large mirror, and Billy finally sees his reflection.

He stares in shock.

If he could tear his eyes away he would notice that you look nervous.

“A Gorgon?” He says faintly, reaching up towards the mass of dark snakes sitting on the top of his head.

“I kept most of your human features. No hooves or wings or tail.”

“Snakes.” He says, running his hand tentatively over the creatures.

“Yes.” Your voice is very quiet. “I sharpened your teeth, and nails.” He observes these features, looking them over curiously. “Changed your hair, obviously. And your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

He looks closer into the mirror, studying his eyes. They look the same dark brown as they always have, though when the sunlight hits them appear to shimmer like moonlight over a still lake.

“So I can turn people into stone?”

“Only those who wish you ill will.” You remind him, before adding in a soft, dangerous tone, “I’ve heard it’s quite an agonising way to die.”

Billy tilts his head as he looks at you. So kind and gentle with him, but he sees the cruelty underneath. He sees how dangerous your beauty is. You’re just like him.

“Thank you.”

From then onwards Billy lives in your temple. After his first day on the island, you’re called away to the Council of the God’s. You warn Billy that you may be gone a long time. Years feel different to immortals, and trying to gather all twelve of you, then come to a decision together takes the patience of a saint.

Billy assures you that he’s used to being alone. Though that doesn’t make you feel better as you dematerialise and drift away to the Council.

While you’re away, Billy cleans up the rubble and the weeds growing in the cracks of the temple. He then patches up those cracks, to the best of his ability. He manages to come to an agreement with the local bees, and makes beeswax candles for your altar.

As you’re sitting through the meeting, sighing as your sibling falls from their chair after one too many glasses of wine, you feel the changes Billy is making. With every pile of dust removed, your head feels clearer. With every animal he befriends, your heart flutters. When he lights the candles on your altar, you feel powerful for the first time in years.

Your brother observes the change as the two of you walk out of the Council Hall once the meeting has finally concluded.

“You seem happy. Don’t tell me you’ve finally found someone to warm your temple.” He teases with a smug grin, and you shove his shoulder, eyeing the sky as sunrise is about to begin.

“Don’t you have a chariot to pull, little brother?”

Before he can respond, you shift into an owl and soar off into the night.

Billy is in the temple when you arrive. He turns when he hears you coming, his eyes wide as you move towards him in a glistening silver gown, the thin fabric rippling as you walk.

“My Goddess.” He greets you with such awe in his voice that you shiver.

“Hello Billy.”

He grins wickedly with a confidence he hadn’t shown you before.

“I never got to thank you properly.” You frown at him, and he steps closer, pressing his body against yours. His fingers trace under your jaw, as he breathes the words against your skin, “May I?”

“Yes.”

He perches you on your altar, parts your thighs, and buries his face between them, worshipping you with every ounce of devotion in his body.

From then onwards you slowly become lovers.

One day you’re working in the forest together. Picking berries as Billy chops at some wood. You drop your basket when you hear a startled cry from Billy.

“You should be more careful, my love.” You warn him, the endearment slipping out at the alarming sight of his blood. You feed him ambrosia to heal his wound, and his eyelids flutter at the sweet taste.

You are very affectionate towards his snakes. He often lowers his head into your lap, allowing you to thread your fingers through them and coo at them.

“Hello, my darlings. Oh you poor things, all tangled up aren’t you? Let me help you.”

Billy hides his grin when you help his snakes to detangle themselves, knowing full well that they could do it on their own.

Your siblings soon hear about the mortal man turned immortal by your hand, who now protects your temple. Of course, they decide to visit.

“This is my brother. You probably know him as Apollo, or Helios, or… Well he’ll probably list all his titles and ask you to choose your favourite. He’s rather vain in that sense.” You remark teasingly, at which your brother rolls his eyes.

You tell Billy that should be want to bed any of them, he’s more than welcome to. As long as he doesn’t do it in the prayer room. He tilts his head in confusion at your words.

“I thought the gods were possessive over their mortals.”

“You aren’t mortal anymore, Billy. Forever is a long time, and I wouldn’t want to confine you anymore than I have done already. Besides, my siblings may have you for a night or two, but I’m the one who gets to keep you on my island, in my temple.”

He smiles at your words, but he still has questions.

“They’re your siblings though. Isn’t that a little weird?”

“We’re not actually related you know.” He frowns at you, and you explain, “God’s aren’t made up of genetics like humans are, we’re intangible. After all, can you hold wisdom in your hands?”

“Yes.” Billy says immediately and you frown at him.

He cups your face in his hands and you laugh.

“Very clever, Mr Russo.” He shrugs lightly with a bright smile on his face.

“I try.”

When the word spreads of the Gorgon in your temple, you begin to feel worry for the first time in centuries.

“Please be careful, Billy. Now that the gods know about you, before long it will reach the demigods, then the humans. They’ll see your head as a prize to claim.” He kisses your forehead in reassurance.

“I’ll be careful.”

You’re lying in bed one night when Billy asks you,

“What happens when a monster dies?”

You turn to face him with a frown, eyeing the distant look in his eyes.

“I didn’t turn you into a monster, Billy.” You state firmly, holding his face in your hands. “Despite the things you did, even as a mortal, you have never been a monster.” He nods and you continue. “If you did die, I would go straight down to Hades or Tartarus or wherever you ended up, and I would bring you right back.”

“Gods can’t go to Hades.”

You smile mischievously.

“I have my connections.”

Said connections visit a month later, when Spring arrives at your island.

Persephone sits in the sunlit field with you as she weaves Billy a flower crown, and you discover that his snakes can sneeze - much to his embarrassment.

You and Billy Russo have a very long existence ahead of you, but you’re sticking together through it all.

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marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity

Billy Russo Tag List: @blackbirddaredevil23 @rafaelakelley @theysayitscrazy @nyx2021 @skybridgerton @dragon-of-winterfell @chickensarentcheap @stardustmorozov @sweetwritingfanficfriend @witchcraftandwit @ladyofsoa @ily2lia

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #billy russo x y/n #billy russo x you #billy russo au #the punisher au #billy russo the punisher #billy russo imagine #billy russo moodboard

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princessamericachavez · 3 years

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Fuck it. Today I get to be self-indulgent and tell you about the entire Fjorester Hallmark Christmas Fanfic that is way too long for me to write these days but I have entirely laid down in my head so instead I’m going to write about it as a bulletpoint fic.... sort of... you’ll get the grasp. Just strap along for the ride.

(This is obvious and shamelessly based on Tis The Damn Season by Taylor Swift, you can fight me. I said it was self-indulgent)

Okay, so first of all, the group are all friends and knew each other all through college, right?

Jester studied psychology (she’s an emotional healer, you know?) and especialices in art therapy.

Fjord did a marine biology major with an acting minor, because deep down he’s a theater nerd but doesn’t dare admit it because he needs to want a “real” career, you know? Also, he paid for his studies with a full swimming team scholarship.

I legit don’t know what everyone else studied —this is the kinda stuff I would figure out while actually writing the fic— so you get to fill those blanks!

ANYWAY, basically during college Jester had this art teacher, Artagan, who she became weirdly friendly with (you sometimes become friends with your college teachers, they aren’t even that much older than you and half the time are just as tired)

So this art teacher is delighted by her, right? Keeps telling her how talented an artist she is and how she should definitely come with him to LA after this year is over. He’ll get her into a gallery! She’ll be famous and amazing!

So Jester goes. And her heart aches. And maybe leaving her mama is so damn hard. And maybe, maybe, she doesn’t want to say goodbye to Fjord but she’s been in love with him for so so so long and he never seemed to see her in that way, so she can’t put her life on pause for him. She can’t. Even if the night before she leaves it looks like he’s trying to tell her something, to half confess something that he never quite does say out loud and her heart falls and she leaves.

ANYWAY here is where our story begins.

Jester comes back for christmas after six months away and she is EXCITED to be home!

(maybe a little too much, maybe things aren’t going as great in LA as she expected) (and mayyyybe she’s a little nervous to see a certain someone but it’s ok)

Fjord picks her up at the airport. He knows her mama doesn’t like going out much and he really, really, really insists that it’s no big deal. His car is old and shitty and there was an incident once that made Jester start calling it “The Ball Eater” to Fjord’s endless dismay (and bemusement).

Anyway the ride home is light hearted, they make small talk and laugh about old times and Jester talks so much about how amazing everything in LA is but Fjord can’t shake the feeling that something about her, despite her smile, seems sad.

He also can’t help the desire to hold her hand, or kiss her, or at the very least confess how uselessly in love he’s been with her for years, but she’s only here for like four days because she needs to go back to LA for her big New Years gallery show that Artagan put together and he can’t ask much from her without getting in the way of her dreams, so he doesn’t.

So they get home and Marion is as delightful as ever and Jester finds out that Fjord has been helping her fix some things around the house (oh so you’re a very handy man, Fjord! *wiggles eyebrows*) and he’s been buying her groceries because he knows Jester used to do it because Marion is always so busy performing at the Chateau (and doing other things for her fancier clients, but Fjord would rather not bring that subject up too often) and he just thought it would be important for someone to look after her from time to time.

Jester has to choke back tears because she is so moved that he is so wonderful with her mama even when she’s gone. Her heart flutters and it’s terrifying.

So Fjord leaves and Jester and her mama spend the whole afternoon together, catching up and baking cupcakes and watching christmas movies until Marion has to go to work.

Meanwhile, Fjord is trying to figure out what to do with himself and with Jester —nothing, he decides, he shouldn’t really say anything— and keeps pacing around his apartment to the endless bemusement of his roomate.

Caduceus was MEANT to go home for the holidays, but there was some kind of change of plans with his family at the last minute (or so he says, he hasn’t been very forthcoming about it and Fjord suspects they might have had an argument or something or maybe Cad just decided not to go home, but how is he supposed to know? He never knew the first thing about families) so now Caduceus is here and for the first time in his life Fjord is not spending Christmas alone.

Caduceus suggests honesty is the best course of action, that he should just tell Jester how he feels. Yeah. Right.

Anywayyy

Jester gets together with the rest of her friends “The Nein” they call each other, though they have never been nine, just to mess with people who keep asking and getting weirder and weirder answers. They get some drinks.

While Fjord is away getting drinks, Beau mentions what a shitty year she’s had and Jester’s brow furrows and Beau says it was just a lot of shit, you know? Vandran just up and leaving town, handing in his thesis (though his tutor, Mrs. Melora was delightful and supportive). She doesn’t mention how depressed Fjord was over Jester leaving, though, but she does say that the cherry on top was his fucking ex showing up again.

“Avantika came back?!”

Jester’s chest twists with the painful memory of jealousy and anger and worry over how unhealthy the whole thing was and how sick and sleepless and exhausted and sad Fjord seemed though the entire relationship before he finally gathered the courage to break things up.

Veth knows that, so she brushes it off with a quick “it’s fine, he told her to go fuck herself” and Jester feels maybe a little better —even though she totally has no right because she and Fjord aren’t a thing and he can do whatever he wants ok? she totally doesn’t care, totally.

Still, maybe, on the way back home she asks if he’s okay and she’s so worried and hesitant and Fjord just melts and assures her he’s alright, that he already knew when Avantika came back that she was not what he wanted, that he deserved more... that he wanted more... and he’s so earnest and breathless that Jester thinks he might really be in love with someone else, then... it doesn’t occur to her that all he can think about is kissing her in that moment, parked outside her mama’s house.

The porch’s front light turns on, the moment passes, they say goodbye.

Fjord comes over on the 24th to hang out. Apparently, Caduceus is a little bit more homesick than he is willing to admit and decided to unload all of his Cain Instincts on Fjord. Jester is delighted by the idea of Cad secretly being a prankster, but she lets Fjord hide out with her and her mama as they decorate the house (Marion didn’t have time to before between shifts) and make cookies and watch movies.

And it’s so easy, so sweet and comfortable, that Jester can’t help but feel like this is what life is meant to be, she can’t help but fantasize about what things could have been like...

Fjord finally asks what’s wrong. She tries to dodge the question first, assuring him she’s alright, but Fjord has known Jester long enough to figure out that something is weighing on her and he insists that she can tell him anything.

Jester finally breaks and admits LA isn’t everything she dreamed. It’s pretty great, sure, and she got a job as an art therapist in a nearby clinic and the gallery is going to be great and fun but she feels so lonely, she’s tried to make new friends but everyone is too busy or stuck on their own road to success to really get to know them, she misses the Nein, she misses her mama, she misses her home and Fjord. Besides, Artagan has been so busy with planing the gallery (and all of the other cool artists he has been collecting to showcase there and she didn’t know about before) and he’s just not as focused on being her artistic mentor has before. It’s just a lot.

And Fjord listens and nods and assures her that she’s brilliant and amazing and she will be alright, but she can always come back home if she wants (god, he wishes she would return).

instead, Jester says he should come to LA because they used to talk about this, about both going there and trying their luck as artists. “You are such an amazing actor, Fjord!” She insists but Fjord is too anxious. Dreams don’t pay the bills. He can’t just drop everything just to follow a dream... just to follow her.

It gets quiet after that.

On the way out, Marion overhears that Fjord is planing to spend christmas alone with Cad on their apartment and insists they should come over for diner instead.

Jester is delighted! It’s usually just her and her mama (who usually has to leave early because she works christmas night at the hotel) but now Cad and Fjord can come too! And the others should too! Beau and Yasha are here alone too and Veth can bring Yeza and Luke and Caleb will definitely want to spend it here instead of the library right?

So the Nein end up all invited to Jester’s christmas party.

Which, of course, means they HAVE to do a secret santa.

Jester gets Caleb, so she enlists Veth and Beau to go shopping for his gift to make it extra especial.

While they are out doing chores, Caleb texts Jester and asks if he could talk to her later that afternoon. She wonders out loud why that would be and Veth blurts out: “he’s probably finally gonna tell you he’s in love with you”

And Jester would brush it off with a flirty joke if it wasn’t by the way Beau slaps the back of Veth’s head and tells her “you said you wouldn’t tell on him!”

So Jester is shocked and confused and thrown off balance because she never even considered Caleb like that. Does Caleb like her? Is he in love with her? Is she supposed to know that? To like him back? Oh no, he’s going to tell her this afternoon isn’t he?

And she has to give him a christmas gift for the secret santa!

Caos and overthinking ensue and finally Jester buys Caleb a big thick book he’d been eyeing for a while but that he’d deemed too expensive to get and a very long scarf with lots of tiny cats and there’s nothing romantic about it but she’s still worried about it.

So, either way, Caleb and Jester meet up for a late coffee (Caleb is basically immune to caffeine at this point so it’s fine and Jester only drinks hot coco so it’s alright).

And Jester jumps the gun, she goes on and on and on about how she had no idea and she’s so sorry and she’s not sure about how to feel with this but she doesn’t want to hurt Caleb because he’s such a good friend and she really does care about him a lot but-

Caleb cuts her off with a laugh. He already knew she’s not in love with him, which is why he never brought the subject up. He’s fine, he’s moved on.

Oh?

Actually, he wanted to talk with her because he is seeing someone else (ESSEK) and he wanted to know if it would be alright to bring him over for christmas tomorrow. He thinks he’s ready to introduce them to his friends and a party seems like a good idea.

Jester is delighted again and assures him he totally can come and not to worry about the extra space or work or food because Caduceus and Fjord promised to come help her prepare everything for the party.

She grabs his hands and assures him with a bright smile that she’s incredibly happy for him and hopes this is the good kinda love that makes him feel warm and fuzzy and smile. And Caleb blushes and nods and mumbles that maybe it is.

CUT TO: Fjord is totally accidentally watching this from outside the coffeeshop because he was out buying gifts too (for his secret friend, Beau, a dope set of weights... and for Jester, a tiny unicorn that he just saw and had to get for her because he knew it would make her so happy).

Either way, as you can imagine, what Fjord sees is easily misunderstood.

Cue: heartbreak.

Which gets us to christmas morning filled with excitement and presents and hugs.

Fjord and Caduceus come over to help the Lavorre women cook (Fjord feels a little responsible over turning their little yearly diner into a fully blown party because he mentioned they were spending it alone at home).

And Fjord is sad. He isn’t angry, or rude, or jealous... okay, maybe a little jealous, but mostly he’s just heart-broken and Jester can tell something is off, but Fjord makes an effort to smile and pretend like everything is fine and –wow, whoever he is in love with (that person he said he now new he wanted) might have broken his heart and Jester is so confused and at a lost.

Anyway, it’s Caduceus who finally has enough of the mopping around and pulls Fjord aside to figure out what’s wrong and Fjord just blurts everything out: Jester and the feelings and the almost kiss in his car and the hanging out and the stupid little unicorn he has back at home and now doesn’t dare give her and Jester holding Caleb’s hands and how stupid he feels and how he had no right to feel that way anyway...

Cad lets him ramble and in the end just sighs and puts a hand on his shoulder and says: you should give her the gift. Did you get it so she would love you? Did you get it to get something in return?

No, Fjord says, he just wanted to make her happy.

Well, it will still make her happy, right? Isn’t that what you want?

And Fjord nods despite the hurt and Cad thinks he is so clever because of course he knows that Jester is in love with Fjord and that Caleb has moved on but he figures his roommate needs to figure it out himself this time.

And so, the party comes.

They do the secret santa early, because everyone is too chaotic and excited to wait to figure out what gifts they will get and they all want their friends to see the awesome gifts they got them already.

Fjord nearly bites through his cheek while he sees Jester give Caleb her secret santa gift.

Yasha gives Jester a beautiful dress, dark but artistic, that everyone insists she must try on and model for them at once because the world really hates Fjord and wants to make him blush and squirm as much as possible over the girl of his dreams.

Caduceus gets Fjord an amazing movie collection with all the western classics he loves and it’s probably one of the nicest gifts he’s ever gotten.

The tiny unicorn weights like a fucking ton inside Fjord’s pocket through most of the night. He convinces himself that he can’t give it to Jester, it would be overstepping. If she loves someone else, he needs to respect that.

And then Essek shows up, and Fjord understands many things at once, and he’s so stupid he wants to laugh and hit himself at the same time.

And yeah, just because Jester isn’t in love with someone else it doesn’t mean that she will like him now... of course not... but he feels a little bit less like a terrible friend and person for wanting her to.

He pulls her out to the porch with some dumb excuse and after a lot of awkward small talk he finally brings out the tiny unicorn.

Jester is delighted. What? Why? When? And Fjord just tells her the truth, that he saw it and thought of her and how happy it would make her and he had to...

So Jester kisses his cheek and he blushes furiously and just as the moment is about to die down Veth shouts from inside that someone hid a lot of mistletoe around the house and that she is not kissing any of her friends thank you very much.

So the two of them look up just in time to see GUESS WHAT hanging over their heads. Because of course.

Blushing. Awkwardness. I mean, we don’t have to if you don’t- I mean if you- I mean I do- Do you? Yeah. Wait. Really? I mean, do you want to? Y-yes!

They kiss.

And it’s quick and shy and not really a big romantic kiss, barely a peck between two friends terrified of fucking everything up.

The night goes on and neither of them can stop thinking about it... but other than that, it’s just a fun party.

Fjord doesn’t sleep much, he’s up early and pacing around the house until he decides he needs to try that again. Just once more. One more kiss. And maybe then... and, yes, she will leave, but maybe one more kiss wouldn’t be so terrible before that?

So Fjord runs. He runs over to her home, heart in his throat.

He knocks on the door, rushed and breathless... and finds Marion looking sad.

Jester got a call that very morning saying Artagan needed her ASAP back in LA because the gallery is apparently a mess and he needs her help to organize the big night.

Fjord does his best to cheer Marion up but he also knows, he knows, how upset Jester must have been to lose the last few days home.

Meanwhile, Jester is doing her best to help Artagan (after finding out her mentor might be an amazingly talented artist but a terrible event organizer) and basically runs herself thin, going crazy and barely sleeping for a couple days.

Two days before the big exhibit everything is still a mess and it’s too much for her to handle alone... and then the Nein arrive.

What are you doing here? What is going on? How are you here?

And they just shrug and smile and say they missed her and ‘hey, do you need a little help with that?’ and before she knows it everyone is helping her up and putting together everything that’d been falling apart.

Beau basically intimidates the catering service into actually delivering on time by reviewing their contract and finding how much money they could lose if they don’t. Yasha, turns out, has a fantastic eye for art and helps pick where and how each piece should be hanged. Veth goes nuts with the decoration, making it way fancier than anyone expected this little art show to be —she demands black tie for everyone who is coming, too. Caleb and Essek result amazing with lights and music and manage got connect the whole audio system by some sort of magical miracle because it hasn’t worked properly since the 8s. Caduceus and Fjord offer to serve drinks when the barman calls in sick.

In the end, after a few hectic days, it all works out.

Jester finds out from Beau that Fjord basically knocked on their doors as soon as he found out she had to come back and talked everyone into coming and drove all the way here in his cheap shitty Ball Eater car (it broke down halfway through and Fjord and Caleb had to fix it themselves which is also why it took them two whole days to get to LA).

The night of the gallery everything is perfect and beautiful and Jester could cry because she has the best friends in the world —but, really, she could cry because she’s missed them so much and having them here with her has made LA seem like a true city of stars again.

And so, she takes a moment in between smiling and shaking hands and posing for pictures with Artagan (who is sort of taking all the credit for their work but it��s alright because he’s already hooked her and two others up with a bunch of interested agents and it seems like he really just wants to help this small artists have their big break) and Jester steps outside to take some air.

Fjord follows.

And she starts to thank him, earnestly, for all his help and support and she has no idea how she could’ve done any of this without them —without him. She can’t believe he followed her all the way here (as if Fjord has done anything else since the day they met on their college’s induction day... he always follows her)

Fjord, a little coyly, says that he could pay her back by lending him a couch while he looks for a place... and that’s how Jester finds out Fjord’s moving to the city to try and pursue acting.

“Job hunting wasn’t going too well either, so I figured I might as well give my dreams a chance... I would also really like to be closer to you,” he admits, in a moment of boldness.

And Jester understands. Finally. She sees what she was too afraid of admitting to herself out of fear of heartbreak and disappointment.

“I can lend you a couch,” she smiles, playfully, “but it will cost you... a movie, maybe diner later”

And his eyes sparkle as he steps closer and says, “I think I can manage that” and he asks if he can kiss her, following a hunch, and she nods.

Just as everyone shouts HAPPY NEW YEAR inside the building.

THE END

ok that’s all, i cannot bring myself to actually write this multichapter, but I hope anyone who is still here after ALL THAT enjoyed the ride.

Happy holidays!!

#fjorester #fjord stone #jester lavorre #critical role #critter fic #fanfic #sofia's nonsense

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nineteenninety-six · 4 years

Text

Escapism - Part Two

This is a bit early, I was actually going to write and post 3 imagines before this one but I struggled to find the motivation.

This is about 3k words of nonsense, I didn’t want it to be a continuous thing of them meeting at an event every so often so I tried to add a bit of a story to it and I uh don’t like the end part but it’s 5 am and I’m tired.

TW: abuse, alcohol

Tag list for people that commented/asked (if you want to added or removed then just ask me:)) :

@stydia-4-ever

@kingarthurscat

@writeroutoftime

@futuristicslimemongerbanana

@newsieunion

@chrisevanstan2

WORD COUNT: 3925

[PART ONE] [PART THREE] [PART FOUR]

Stewart was silent on the drive home, something he often did, so (Y/N) paid it no mind. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he lit himself a cigarette slumped against the seat with this shirt untucked and his tie haphazardly wrapped around his neck, she could smell the waves of alcohol coming off of him and his eyes were still glazed from the drugs he had taken and she was grateful that they had a driver to take them home since Stewart was in no condition to do so.

(Y/N) helped Stewart up the stairs to their house, briefly letting go of him to open the front door before taking his arm and guiding him in and towards his bedroom but they didn’t get far as, as soon had the front door had slammed shut, she was slammed against the nearest wall and Stewart’s hands were tightly her wrists and he leant his body into hers enough so she knew that she wouldn’t be able to push him off.

“Where were you?” Stewart grit out, spit flying.

“W-what?” (Y/N) was caught off guard, not having a clue about what he was talking about.

“The afterparty. Where were you? Did you think I wouldn’t notice if you disappeared?”

(Y/N) cursed in her head, she thought he was too far gone to notice her absence but she was apparently wrong.

“Stewart, you know I don’t like those types of things.” She said meekly, not wanting to anger him any more than he was.

“I don’t care. You’re my wife, you do as I say.” Stewart growled out, “Understand?”

(Y/N) quickly nodded, wanting to get away from him as soon as possible.

“Good.” Stewart gave her one last glare before releasing her and stumbling away to his room.

(Y/N) collapsed to the floor as soon as he let go of her, her legs unable to support her any longer and began sobbing, quickly slapping her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound knowing that if Stewart heard her crying then he’ll just come back angrier.

(Y/N) slowly pushed herself up on to her feet, wincing at the pain in her wrists before silently shuffling to her room, trying her hardest not to make a sound. Once she slipped into her room, she stripped out of her clothes before sliding on her nightgown and slipping into her bed. As she laid in bed, she prayed to a God that she was no longer sure she believed in, pleading for an escape for the version of hell she was living in, one that she didn’t deserve before turning over and crying herself to sleep.

The next morning as (Y/N) walked downstairs for breakfast she prayed that Stewart wasn’t there but her prayers weren’t answered as he was sitting in his usual seat in the living room, puffing on a cigarette waiting for the maids to bring in their breakfast.

“Good morning, Stewart.” (Y/N) greeted as she slipped into the seat next to him and poured herself a cup of tea.

Stewart only grunted and (Y/N) couldn’t tell whether or not he was still upset about last night or if he even remembered what had happened the night before.

(Y/N) didn’t bother to attempt to converse with him and read over the newspaper until the maids brought in breakfast and when that came they ate in silence.

“I’m going to be in Parliament all this week, Jonathon offered to show me around and give me tips on becoming an MP so I’ll be back late all week.”

“Okay.” (Y/N) was internally cheering, practically a whole week without Stewart was probably the best thing to happen to her ever since she got married.

“His wife is coming down on Wednesday so I want you to come with me in Morning and show her around London and entertain her for the day.”

“Of course.” (Y/N) kept her answers short and sweet.

“Good.”

They finished the rest of the meal in silence before Stewart left the dining room to go, gods know where, not that (Y/N) cared either way.

(Y/N) spent the rest of the day in the library, it was pretty much the only thing she did, the only times she left the house was when Stewart was dragging her somewhere or she had to socialise with Mary-Anne and the other wives. (Y/N)’s life was boring but what could she do when the man she was married to practically kept her locked up and only brought her out when he wanted to flaunt or brag about her. She had overheard the many times Stewart’s friends had confessed to him that they were jealous that he managed to get a young woman while their wives were just as old as they were. It made her sick that these men were talking about those women like that but she couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Before she knew it, it was Wednesday and (Y/N) was sat next to Stewart in the car as he drove them to Westminster. (Y/N) had thoroughly enjoyed her first two days without Stewart even though today was a slight inconvenience, she didn’t care all that much as it meant she still got a day away from Stewart. They met Jonathon and his wife outside of Jonathon’s office.

“Stewart!” Jonathon shook Stewart’s hand before pulling (Y/N) into a small and brief hug, “(Y/N), it’s lovely to see you again.”

“Lovely to see you too Jonathon” (Y/N) politely smiled and interacted back, knowing that if she didn’t, Stewart would be mad.

“This is my wife, Margaret.” Jonathon introduced his wife, a small, pretty blonde woman.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you (Y/N).” Margaret stepped forward and shook her hand.

“The pleasures all my mine. I hope we will have a good day today.” (Y/N) smiled.

A pair of footsteps coming their way distracted the four of them and (Y/N) turned slightly to see who it was. It was Tommy Shelby and alongside him was a slightly younger woman who looked slightly liked him.

“Mr Shelby!” Stewart called out, disrupting Tommy and woman’s conversation.

Tommy looked up at the shout of his name and recognization flickered over his face as his eye found Stewart and the rest of the group. Tommy quietly murmured something in the woman’s ear before making his way over to this group, the woman one step behind him.

“Mr Langley, Mr Alexander” Tommy shook their hands and politely nodded to their wives.

(Y/N) stared at Tommy as he stood only a few steps away from her, she had completely forgotten about him and now that she stood next to him, she remembered how relaxed and free she felt when she spent those few hours talking with him.

“This is my younger sister, Ada.” Tommy introduced the woman, who smiled.

The six of them stood in awkward silence for a few moments before Margaret spoke up, “Me and (Y/N) are spending the day in town, you can join us if you want Ada? It’s probably better than sitting in a stuffy office all day.” Margaret laughed.

Tommy and Ada exchanged a look before Tommy nodded his head in what looked like permission but (Y/N) wasn’t completely sure, she didn’t think their dynamic worked like that.

“I’d hate to interrupt,” Ada said.

“Oh it’s no problem at all is it (Y/N)?”

Suddenly (Y/N) felt the gazes of five people on her all at once, “Of course not, the more the merrier.”

Her smile was tight and forced as Margaret happily clapped.

“Let’s go, I want to experience everything I can before it gets dark!”

Stewart gripped her arm and lowered his head to talk to her before she could quickly make her escape, “Be nice. Try and get close to that Ada girl, remember I want her brother to be on my side.”

(Y/N) nodded before pulling her arm out of his grip and walking to where Margaret stood. Tommy was quietly talking to Ada when his eyes suddenly flickered to her, catching her off guard before going back to his sister.

Soon Ada made her way over to (Y/N) and Margaret and they went on their way, stopping off for brunch before deciding what they wanted to do for the day.

“So where first?” Margaret asked as soon as they stepped out of the cafe.

“The National Gallery of British Art is a short walk away, what about that?” (Y/N) asked, hoping that Margaret agreed.

The gallery was perhaps one of (Y/N)’s favourite places to visit, she found peace and her loneliness didn’t exist in the moments when she was surrounded by the paintings.

“Sounds wonderful! Let’s go!” Margaret began walking ahead, leaving (Y/N) and Ada to trail behind her.

(Y/N) wasn’t sure what to think about Margaret, she was chipper and enthusiastic and so far more tolerable than the other wives she usually has to deal with but she was sure that Margaret’s happy personality would start to grate on her.

“She’s got quite a personality eh?” Ada suddenly spoke up making (Y/N) jump in shock.

“Oh! Yeah. She’s definitely got a bright personality, that’s for sure”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Ada apologized.

“It’s alright Miss Shelby, I was just lost in my thoughts.”

“I-, my last name is actually Thorne.” Ada corrected her, “Ms Ada Thorne if we’re using proper titles.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” (Y/N) was embarrassed before the second part of Ada sentence caught her attention.

“Ms..? Oh. I’m sorry for your loss.” (Y/N) had made a fool of herself in the short period of time that she had known Ada.

“It’s alright, it’s been a while. I’ve healed.” Ada was quick to soothe her.

“Still though...to lose someone close and precious to you must hurt.” (Y/N) felt at ease with Ada, like how she did with Tommy.

“It does but it’s a part of life I suppose. Everyone goes through it.”

(Y/N)’s lips twisted at Ada’s statement, she didn’t think she would know that feeling, with her no longer speaking to her parents and her miserable marriage to a man who bought her, (Y/N) couldn’t imagine feeling the pain of loss.

If Ada noticed her weird reaction she didn’t say anything.

“How long were you and your husband together?” (Y/N) asked before realised how rude of a question it was, “-You don’t have to answer that! I shouldn’t have even asked you that question, it was rude.”

Ada laughed, “It’s fine. At first, we were hiding around, trying not to get caught by my brothers but then I fell pregnant and we got married and then moved to London.”

“You have a child?”

“A son, Karl.” Ada smiled at the mention of her son. “How old is he?” (Y/N) asked, smiling at the joy that came over Ada’s face at the mention of her son.

“Ten. It feels like yesterday he was still just a baby.” Ada laughed, (Y/N) joining in.

“Do you like children?” Ada asked.

(Y/N) actually paused at the question, having to actually think about it, “I’m not sure. I don’t think I’ve ever been near a child or a baby. I’m an only child as well.”

“What about children of your own? Ever think about starting a family with your husband?” Ada asked.

“No. Stewart and I will never have children.” (Y/N) was final in her response.

Margaret was still ahead of them ‘ooh-ing’ and ‘ahh-ing’ at new things she came across which (Y/N) had to admit was quite endearing.

“Your husband…” Ada started to speak, “No offence but he seems a bit older than you.”

“It’s fine. It was an arranged marriage, he’s quite a bit older than me. Old enough to be my dad, if we’re being honest.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-Four.”

Ada scoffed and swore under her breath, causing (Y/N) to laugh, she laughed harder when Ada threw her an incredulous look.

“Tommy had the same reaction when I told him” (Y/N) explained.

“You’re not that much older than our youngest brother Finn. He’s only twenty-one.” Ada elaborated.

“How many of you are there?” (Y/N) was curious now, after meeting Tommy and Ada and hearing about Finn, she guessed there was a few more Shelby’s she didn’t know about.

“There was five but my older brother John passed away a few years ago. So now there’s the oldest Arthur, then Tommy, me and then finally Finn.”

(Y/N) sent her a sympathetic smile at the mention of her late brother, “Five siblings, what a life you must have had growing up.”

“It was certainly something. It was tough being the only girl in a family and having three older overprotective brothers.” Ada slightly scowed

“I like to think there’s a perfect in-between, between having siblings and being an only child.” (Y/N) said, slightly jealous of Ada’s youth.

“How was it like growing up an only child?” Ada asked. They were close to gallery and she found herself enjoying the conversation and the outing more than she expected.

“Lonely...my parents didn’t allow me to have friends really. After I finished school, I didn’t have any friends so I spent most of my time at home until I got married. Not that much has changed, I still don’t have friends or go out, still trapped at home. “

“Well, we’re friends and I’ll be sure to invite you out.” Ada smiled at her, causing (Y/N) to smile. (Y/N) really liked Ada.”

“C’mon you two!” Margaret called from in front of them, already at the steps of the gallery.

(Y/N) and Ada shared a silent look before hurrying up and joining Margaret. They didn’t get to have a private conversation again that day, spending the rest of it in the company of Margaret and by mid-evening that made their way back to Westminster.

The three of them stood outside of Jonathon’s office waiting for him and Stewart to come out when Tommy appeared at the end of the hallway and approached the trio, sidling up to Ada’s side.

“Have a nice day ladies?” Tommy asked.

“We did. We had a great time.” (Y/N) said. Tommy’s eyes flickered to hers.

“S’good to hear” Tommy’s eyes stayed on her, (Y/N) felt like they were looking into her soul.

The door to the office opened and Jonathon and Stewart stepped out, Margaret immediately leaping in her husband’s arms and began blabbing about what had happened. (Y/N) watched with a bit of jealousy, while she had doubts that Jonathon was a good man, especially since he was close with her husband, she knew he was a good husband and he loved his wife.

“We best get going deary, I want to get back home to Brighton before it’s dark.” Jonathon told his wife before turning around to shake Stewart’s hand goodbye, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Of course” Stewart shook his hand.

Jonathan dipped his head at everyone else before guiding Margaret out.

“We should go too.” Stewart walked over to (Y/N) and gripped her wrist hard. They were still sore from a few days ago but he didn’t care. He also didn’t care that he had an audience.

“I must invite you around to dinner at some point Thomas. Tell me when you’re free and I’ll be sure to schedule a day.”

“I’ll be delighted to. Let me look over my schedule and I’ll tell you tomorrow.” Tommy looked slightly angry, his jaw was clenched and his eyes hard.

“Very well. See you tomorrow.” Stewart turned around and began walking away, his grip on (Y/N)’s wrist meant that she was abruptly turned around and pulled away to follow after him, causing her to trip over her feet. She looked over her shoulder as she was being dragged away and saw Tommy frowning and take a few steps as if he was following after them before being stopped by Ada.

Tommy had ended up coming over the Friday the following week and (Y/N) was counting down the days ever since Stewart had told her. He had been at home the whole week, only sometimes leaving in the evenings and it had been driving her crazy. The brief week of freedom she had, made her crave for more.

(Y/N)’s two interactions with Tommy had left an imprint on her and she hoped and prayed that since it was a Friday night, Stewart would drink himself into a stupor so that she had time with Tommy, the man who interested her and confused her at the same time.

The doorbell rang and Stewart turned to her whilst one of the maids lets Tommy in and led him to the living room, “Remember, behave.”

(Y/N) nodded and when he turned back around, she rolled her eyes.

“Thomas! I’m glad you managed to come.” Stewart shook his hand and led him further in.

“Mrs Langley, lovely to see you again.” Tommy took her hand in his and pressed a kiss upon it.

“It’s lovely to see you too Tommy.”

Stewart pulled Tommy into a conversation leaving (Y/N) to sit there in silence, absolutely bored out of her mind, only getting up to pour Stewart drinks when he asked.

When dinner was announced, the amount of alcohol Stewart had consumed so far that evening had obviously taken a toll on him, his eyes were slightly glassy and he became much looser. During the meal, Tommy sat opposite her, on the other side of Stewart and she could feel him glance at her several times but she kept her head low and her eyes focused on her plate. Stewart was rambling to Tommy, who she was pretty certain wasn’t paying a single bit of attention to him.

After dinner, the went back to the living room but this time Tommy had taken the seat next to her on the couch instead of one of the loveseats or chairs that sat around the room.

Not that paid attention in the first place but (Y/N) was certain that Stewart was absolutely speaking nonsense. He was murmuring to himself and slowly blinking, no doubt on the brink of sleep and sure enough, a few moments later, he was passed out.

(Y/N) let out a disappointed sigh at the sight of the man in front of her before standing up and ringing for the footmen to come and take him back to his room.

“I must apologize.” She said to Tommy after they watched two footmen drag her husband out of the room.

“You have nothing to apologize for. Your husband is a grown adult, you shouldn’t have to apologize for his behaviour.”

“That does not matter to the people in high society, a woman’s reputation is always tarnished by a man, even if they’re not at fault in the situation but the man always manages to escape cleanly.”

“You do not like high society?” Tommy asked as he poured them drinks, waving her over back to her seat on the couch.

“I don’t but it’s the only thing I know. I was born into it and I married into it. Many times have I laid awake wishing for a different life but I suppose the grass is always greener on the other side. I don’t doubt there are thousands of people wishing to live even a fraction of the life I live. “ (Y/N) said as she sat down, gratefully accepting her drink from Tommy.

Tommy shifted to face her, their knees touching. “Why haven’t run away? Tried to escape.”

“Run where? To who? I’m alone in this world Tommy.”

Tommy simply hummed and nodded.

“Can I ask you something?” (Y/N) asked, a sudden thought occurring to her.

Tommy cleared his throat, “Go ahead.”

“You go by Tommy, which is your nickname right?” Tommy nodded at her question, “So how much do you hate it when Stewart calls your Thomas?”

Tommy grimaced before flashing her a small grin, “I fucking hate it. My aunt is pretty much the only one to call me Thomas and she only does it when she’s mad at me.”

“Common occurrence?” (Y/N) threw a grin at Tommy, slinking into the couch, finally feeling comfortable and at ease.

“My aunt being mad at me? As common as the sun rising and setting every night” Tommy snorted causing (Y/N) laugh.

“How’s your son?” (Y/N) enquired

“Charlie? He’s good, I don’t get to see him much since I spend so much time in London.”

“You should start spending more time with him before it’s too late and if people like Stewart keeping asking you out for dinner then tell ‘em to piss off.” Her drink had certainly loosened her tongue but (Y/N) couldn’t find it in herself to care, at least not when she was with Tommy.

“I’ll be sure too.” Tommy softly smiled, “You should meet him someday?”

“Meet your son? You barely know me.” (Y/N) was surprised

“True but I trust you.”

(Y/N) stared at him in shock surprised at the sudden jump from strangers to being trusted enough to meet one’s son.

They sat in silence for a while, simply enjoying each others company when Tommy suddenly shifted and turned so that he was fully facing her.

“I’ll help you.” He murmured to her, his eyes staring deeply into hers.

“Help me? What do you mean?”

“Runaway. Get away from Stewart.” Tommy said to her.

(Y/N) stood up and crossed her arms defensively, “You have misunderstood Tommy.”

Tommy stood up and stalked over to her, his hands on her arms, “I’ve seen the bruises on your wrist. You don’t deserve it, let me help you (Y/N).”

“Tommy…”

Tommy leant forward and pressed his forehead to hers, their noses brushing against each other, “Please”

When (Y/N) didn’t move away or say anything, Tommy slowly leant his face down and pressed a soft kiss against her lips.

(Y/N) briefly kissed back before she realised what was happening and stepped back,

“You should leave.” She told Tommy, avoiding his eyes.

“(Y/N)--”

“Tommy if anyone had seen us, they wouldn’t hesitate in running to Stewart and even you wouldn’t be able to help me.”

Tommy wanted to argue against her and tell her that he could but he knew it was a lost argument and he didn’t want to upset her further so he nodded his head and bid her goodnight before pushing past her and grabbing his hat and coat before leaving the Langley House.

Once Tommy had driven far away enough, he pulled over to the side of the road and slammed his hands against the steering wheel repeatedly whilst cursing himself in his head multiple times. He didn’t know what convinced him to tell her that he’d help her run away or why he’d even kissed her. He had met her only a few months ago and yet she was constantly on his mind, invading his thoughts and he wanted her away from the disgrace of a man in Stewart and with him instead, where they could be a family with Charlie and perhaps kids of their own.

#tommy shelby imagines #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders imagine #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder imagine #imagines #x reader #thomas shelby #Tommy Shelby #angst #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby angst #fanfic

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gotatext · 4 years

Text

hello, its nora (she/her, gmt) n this is the ethereal but spoiled alma olive putnam (she goes by all 3 names cos she’s pretentious as fuck). raised in a farmhouse in vermont, big horse girl energy. very hungry for everything life has to offer. wakes up and smells the success in her blood. luvs the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. here is pinterest. bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages but i might forget tho so pls message me x

application template.

『ELLE FANNING ❙ CIS-FEMALE』 ⟿ looks like ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM is here for HER JUNIOR year as a CLASSICS student. SHE is 21 years old & known to be RESILIENT, MAGNETIC, CALLOUS & PROUD. They’re living in PERKINS, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ NORA. 24. GMT. SHE/HER.

aesthetics.

a red beret nestled on top of bright platimum locks, neck scarves tied around your throat the way they do it in french new wave films, running barefoot through the woods in feckless hedonism, china dolls with porcelain faces lined against the walls of your room, the mona lisa smile, knee-socks tugged over the hockey grazes on your knees, a forged botticelli drying on your easel, ophelia floating in the middle of a lake.

proceed w caution, tw for death, drugs, alcohol, violence

the short form.

— studying classics cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus and writing about how all women in myth are literally forgotten. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into radcliffe but she made an impression.... like... super fast and in her sophomore year she was upgraded to perkins accomodation n a paid scholarship bcos i think the governors kind of expect to see her in the supreme court one day or.

— born in vermont in a big old farmhouse. her great-great-grandfather moved to america as an immigrant and worked on a plantation, made his way up cos he could speak a lot of languages and therefore win more people over. for the last two generations, putnam men have owned the farm and do little of the dirty work. big in the meat industry.

— both her parents had large personalities, so alma’s never really been shy around adults, even as a kid she’d speak to them in a forthright, confident manner, and because she was always surrounded by adults, she’s always seemed a bit wise beyond her years.

— very much a consolidation of every character in the secret history. has a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. obsessed with w.h. auden and the beat poets. — ”aestheticism is the only thing worth pursuing and even that is pointless” — is majoring in classical civilisation. can read ancient greek and latin. also speaks french.

— studies hard and plays hard. she gets top marks but it’s because academia is literally her life, she loves the smell of libraries, the ancient smoke of learning, of feeling like old wine in a new bottle reincarnated from the bones of some old, dead witchy woman who invented a cure for cowpox or somethin.

— isn’t a foward-planner, however. alma prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manner so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenaline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

— pretentious motherfucker. loves poetry, especially the romantics, loves morbid ones too, edgar allen poe, sylvia plath, allen ginsberg, she just loves them all. can’t get enough. her favourite films are like…. wanky artfilm independent european cinema. especially french new wave. “what do you think of goddard’s work??” while snorting a line off someone’s sink at 5am on a school night, but you can bet she’ll make it to that 9am class. — very intelligent and beautiful and knows both of those facts. plays devil’s advocate. humanitarian, vegan. — judgemental but takes great care not to appear so. petty and vindictive

— obsessively devours mystery and thriller novels. she herself is a gillian flynn book waiting to happen. — tries to be an enigma. wants to be mysterious and unreadable because that’s what books have taught her makes women desirable and interesting and cool. very amy dunne in the way she expertly reinvents herself to suit her audience, when she wants to impress

— act like the flower but be the serpent under it. is a user. manipulative. leads people on. will throw another student under the bus to demonstrate her own intelligence and integrity — heavily involved in the theatre society. loves attention. — has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive, runs track, played lacrosse at school, now is a cheerleader probably. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning.

— her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee-high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk. — relates to ophelia from hamlet and sibyl vane in dorian gray. weirdly obsessed with women who commit suicide. loves jackson pollock paintings and abstract art. – likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramophone because “the sound quality is better” kfdsjj.

plots.

here are some generic wanted plots but by all means message me so we can flesh them out more if any strike ur interest:

study buddies !! someone who is equally unprepared and so spends all night in the library with alma before a big deadline, maybe they even met in the library

if they’re from new england or vermont, then cousins . second cousins / extended family / family friends – probably spat volavons on your character once as children, omg childhood friends !

people who live in perkins n feel like they r constantly competing with one another to keep their place as one of the #elite only know each other from brief interactions in the lift or the canteen

honestly someone who is fully in love with her or crushing on her that she can just break would be sweet :/ or on the other hand someone she unexpectedly gets feelings for and actually wants to guage her own eyeballs out bc of it

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sporting or academic rivalries !

hockey / cheer friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

fellow academics who like meeting up to discuss latin and greek ! gimme a secret society bonding by their love of ancient learning

i reckon she’s in a lot of societies, definitely the film club, maybe works as a projectionist at the uni cinema if they have one so give me ppl affiliated with that, give me fellow wanky pretentious art-lovers and poets and historians who will go to museums and galleries with her and listen to the velvet underground on vinyl

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties

people who think she is throwing her academic potential away by caving to hedonistic impulse

A SECRET SOCIETY !!! honestly i would die for a slug club esque thing in which the children of notable families are invited to dinners OR alma’s also an art forger, so maybe like a club of students set up to basically forge paintings and documents from the university special collections

people she has drunkenly made out with, hooked up with, or regularly sleeps with casually, maybe even a friend w benefits she is repressing feelings for, i love angst,

people she used to date or unrequitedly likes, but to them it’s just a physical thing, give me all the thirsty angst plots, and maybe some softness too, i need some religion in this girls life, she is a roman catholic after all

full biography.

alma olive putnam.

intro.

the girl is a knife. razor-sharp, double-edged, the bright shine of a two-faced, lovely thing. silver like the secrets you magpie thief from other heads. you’re a scavenger of knowledge, of tidbits, of gossip to lock away for later use and late-night re-inspection. a mind is like a clock if you get to learn the pieces. bit by bit, you dismantle the inner workings of the brains that tick around you – how easy it is to change it’s path, how words and their meanings can make a person laugh or cry in an instant. to have the power to control that is to be a god. it’s the power trip you crave wielding pom-poms in your hands; a possessive need for control that a younger you, small and weak, never had as a child. small lips, smaller smile, a doll clutched in your too-hungry fingers, hard enough to shatter the bones of a real infant. you cut your hair with your mother’s kitchen scissors before the autumn falls, rendering you out of season, unfit for the cold weather that beats against the nape of your neck, where a stick-and-poke marks the star you were born under ; the bull. “mama, when will i be a queen?” as soon as they find a crown small enough not to slip from your head.

biography.

if you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. hands red, stained by pomegranate seeds, the empty pulp of its shell splattered on your thighs you find yourself wondering – what would it be like to want? in the beginning, you never knew hunger. twins, born under the same star, you first, him second – a nuclear family. never a sister to compete with, you were always the cherry pie of your parents’ hearts. white-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful baby of mine. the townhouse in vermont and the summer house in lyon, you wanted for nought, showered with attention, saddled with gifts - hardly a wonder you came to rely on such affection as a confirmation of your own worth.

at eight years old you first met death, blood on a gingham-print dress, a smear of it over your cheekbone and the pulp of a mangled animal at your feet murdered by the hands of a stable boy. “alma, my precious baby, you get away from that filth,” your mama would cry from the upstairs balcony – cigar in one hand and a bloody mary in the other – though whether the filth she referred to was the dead pig or the boy with a kernel of corn in his mouth, you never did find out.

your family earned their keeps in farming, great-grandfather wolfgang hildegarde a german immigrant, great-grandmother maura lisbon a prairie girl. they fell hopelessly in love between troughs and pig-shit, working for three dollars a day at a farm their descendants would later own, trade deals with the indians, vacations to calcutta, your father todd putnam in the kind of sheepskin coat his father’s father could only dream of owning. he worked hard so that you’d never have to. your mama once asked – you heard it through the window, rounding cartwheels across the picket-fenced lawn – could he not find a respectable career rather than selling shrink-wrapped pork for a dime a dozen? that blood money had no business raising a child. you look far back enough, edie, your father had said in his low, strong voice that could bring a civil war to silence, and i think you’ll find that all money is blood money.

language was never fickle on your tongue, french dinner time talk by the time you were out of your hush puppy shoes, your mama fixing the au pair a smile as she fixed herself another martini. you learned the clarinet at four and how to dance with the grace of a swansong at six, ethereal under a spotlight, an audience captive in the palm of your hand. by eight you knew that you’d always been destined to be loved. loved so hard they would want to taste you, bite into the soft plump of your cheek and eat you alive. that was how magnetic you wanted to feel. but mother hamsters eat their own young when penned in together too long, and soon you became too wild, too restless, another package on your father’s delivery invoice, box-shipped out to english boarding school.

fitting in had never been something you had to concern yourself with. you were always the shiny new toy the other girls wanted to play with, bright like a dropped coin from a magpie’s beak. wherever you went, you seemed to leave a trail of awe, pig-tailed harriet’s adoring you, imitating you, teachers forgiving your class-time chatter for the sake of your wild heart and the restless spirit you possessed. tell us what it’s like in the states, alma. they’d coo, enamoured by your hollywood drawl. does your father own a gun? you hardly knew. barely even knew the colour of his hair, for the scarce amount of times he’d stoop to kiss your cheek, though you’d tell silver-tongued tales if it��d guaranteed you an audience. when you learned how to smile at the right times, and that flattery would get you everywhere, it soon became apparent that charm would pave the yellow brick road to success even when your lack of drive couldn’t.

the road you followed – gum-snapping, roller-blading, friendship bands all up your arm – eventually led you to radcliffe. bright-eyed and gingham skirted, you’d always known you were more. there was a hunger in you to be something extraordinary, a want so adamant to be imagined and desired that it was almost savage. in leather-bound volumes and a circle of stones, you were helen of troy, the girl for whom they’d launch a thousand ships. but there’s so much rage within you, collecting like sawdust in cavernous parts. hockey helped. there was something grounding about the feeling of a stick clasped in your hands. sweat. stiff knuckles. feet pounding the earth. the smash of wood against flesh in the scram of a game, passed off as mere enthusiasm. “slipped, sorry.” hockey is the one thing you had that was yours alone – a feral instinct that motivates you to play; something primitive within you that sparks an energy like no other. on the pitch, you feel alive. you feel like a god.

#screeches from the rooftops like a banshee #radintro

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maggotmouth · 4 years

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hello, its nora again ( she/her, gmt ) n this is the ethereal but spoiled alma olive putnam (she goes by all 3 names cos she’s pretentious as fuck). ive never used anya taylor joy as her fc before but anya has a smile that looks like she knows something u dont and thats completely alma’s vibe so we’re gonna try it out. she was raised in a farmhouse in vermont, big horse girl energy. very hungry for everything life has to offer. wakes up and smells the success in her blood. luvs the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. here is pinterest. bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages but i might forget or get shy tho so pls message me x

application template.

ANYA TAYLOR - JOY , CIS-FEMALE , SHE/HER → according to the school records , ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM has been attending sacred heart for the past three years . i last saw them hanging around the sacred heart cathedral ; i think they were studying the stations of the cross with a smile like a well - kept secret. at twenty - one years old , alma has been studying classics and get this , i heard that she has made a fortune on the black market by forging renaissance art to sell to collectors — figure it’s true ? everyone around here always associates them with neck scarves tied around your throat the way they do in french new wave films , running barefoot through the woods drunk on red wine and untapped power , a smile like a locked door that speaks only in riddles . in the time since these strange happenings , they have have encountered any unexplained occurrences . ( written by nora , 24 , she/her , gmt )

aesthetics.

proceed w caution, tw for death, drugs, alcohol, violence

the short form. (still long af tbh)

— studying classics cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus and writing about how all women in myth are literally forgotten. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into sacred heart and the board really liked her in her interview. i think the governors kind of expect to see her in the supreme court one day or st

— an incredibly talented dancer. she was accepted to juliard to study ballet, but after an injury to her foot she had to refuse her place, something that she’s incredibly bitter about. she went to princeton instead to study classics for a semester, before being expelled.

— alma comes from a family of high-end art dealers. while her parents paid her way into the school, that was mostly due to previous expulsions, not low intelligence. she’s incredibly intelligent but will only put in effort when she deems the cause worthy. she’s frustrating to teach, because she requires evidence, truth, in order to accept something as worthwhile. she plays devil’s advocate, but academically she’s brilliant.

— she can recognise any renaissance artist just by their brush strokes. her aunt and uncle deal antiques and art, and from an internship with them after her expulsion from princeton, she learned how to market and sell art, how to recognise originals in contrast to fakes. from this, alma began to produce counterfeit art and sell it off as the original work to the contacts she had made in her internship. it’s disloyal, but it’s powerful.