#eleanor if you’re seeing this please don’t tell winter it’s a surprise

[cowboylesbianism]

part of a zine i am working on for my friends birthday

[midnightswithdearkatytspb]

VelvetCardiganBucky’s Recomendations 2021: Week 3 | January 10-16

Welcome to week 3 of my recommendation, if you would like to be featured on a future list, I follow the hashtag #ktkvcbreadinglist, message me, tag me in your future works, or reblog this post and link to your story, one-shot, Masterlist, writing challenge, etc.

Be aware some if not most stories and writers on this list are meant to be consumed by an audience of those 18+. My blog is also an 18+ blog.

«Last Week

Week 4»

My Masterlist

Andy Barber

One-Shot’s

Imagine by @worksby-d • Andy Barber x Reader – Reader takes their chances teasing and tempting Andy, but he can only take so much. | Really good smut.

Good little girl by @donutloverxo • Mob!Andy Barber x Reader — Married life isn’t always easy. Will you be able to solve your problems? (Part 1) | Let me just say the first part sort of darkish but not really? Also I can’t help but read Mob!Andy anything.

Ransom Drysdale

One-Shots

Introducing Chaos by @the-iceni-bitch • Ransom Drysdale x fem!Reader — Ransom brings you to your first Thrombey family dinner, and you make a splash | I laughed so much while reading this and the smut was so good. It’s a really good read.

Drabbles

Playing Games by @just-one-ordinary-fangirl • Ransom Drysdale x Reader — Ransom, the man you loved, did the unforgivable. You confront him about it. | This left me wanting more so badly.

Chris Evans

One-Shot’s

Tonight’s Show by @theblvckvenus • Chris Evans x Fem!Reader — You come home to surprise Chris and his interviewer. But the excitement gets him the better of him and as soon as its over you’re in big trouble. | Came for the show definitely stayed for the smut ;)

Drabbles

Stranger on the Train by @carpediemm-18 • Chris Evans x Female!Reader — Chris comes to the aide of the reader on a late night subway ride. | Sweet and Short

Steve Rogers

Amorosa by @honeysucklesteve • Sugar Daddy!Steve x SugarBaby!Reader — you were drowning, barely surviving in new york city working at an upscale restaurant; the only thing keeping you barely afloat. when steve rogers, vp of stark industries, overhears your troubles, he proposes an agreement that’ll benefit the both of you. should you take it and suffer the consequences is up to you. | I have a huge weakness for Sugar Daddy fics, don’t ask me why but I do. This does not disappoint and it’s got some really good smut in it. Thank you Eleanor!

Bucky Barnes

The Winter Ghost by @msmarvelwrites • Bucky Barnes x Reader — A Devastating car crash causes you to lose your memory and start over. The only thing left in the wreckage was the horrific nightmares which plagued your mind. If you knew what today would entail you would have just stayed in bed. But you didn’t and because of that, everything you knew was about to change. | Get yourself some tissues because you will cry. Brontë wrote the smut moments perfectly that it flowed with the the rest of the chapters so perfectly. Nothing felt rushed, the story was just so perfect.

Picking Up the Pieces [1/3] by @gogolucky13 • Bucky Barnes x Reader — Bucky chooses to stay in his tumultuous relationship knowing you’ll be there to pick up the pieces, until finally you’re not. [Modern AU] | For anyone who has ever felt like they were the second best, this is for you. I teared up while reading. Looking forward to see where this goes.

A Favor [1/?] by @buckysbabygorl • Bucky Barnes x Reader — After breaking up with her boyfriend; Y/N drunkenly admits to the team that she’s never had sex. Not only is she single, but she’s looking. | If you are looking for a laugh, this is the place to go, I’m excited to see where this goes.

One-Shot’s

Teacher’s Pet by @nastybuckybarnes [Dark Fic] • AlphaProfessor!Bucky x Omega!Reader x AlphaProfessor!Steve — The perfect omega doesn’t exist, right? Well, Steve and Bucky think they might’ve just found her in the form of one of their students. And they’re not gonna stop until they have her begging beneath them. | Okay this is such a good A/B/O one-shot. Like it’s got the little bit stuff you need instead of just jumping straight into the good stuff. Which isn’t bad, but sometimes a little bit of a burn, is so good. I highly recommend.

The Thought That Counts by @imerdwarf • Bucky Barnes x Reader — Reader offers to brush Bucky’s hair | All the fluffy fluffy-ness you could want or need.

On His Shoulder by @whateveriwant • Bucky Barnes x Reader — Five separate occasions in which Bucky tells you to put something on his shoulder. | A one-shot that made me wish I was somebodies Jack to somebodies ass. In all honesty Sam does a magnificent job giving reader a nickname and making this one-shot so unbelievably good. You got some laughs, some fluffs, and some smut.

Till The End Of The Line by @chanelsebbie • Bucky Barnes x Reader — You and Bucky go on a mission together to hopefully put a dent in H.Y.D.R.A., but things don’t go as planned. | Shaye how dare you, I cried, this is just so beautifully written and I just want more. Like I was waiting to see more and have him come back. I couldn’t make a link for this one-shot don’t know why, so here you all go.

Drabbles

Boob Move by @nano--raptor • Bucky Barnes x Reader — Y/N falls asleep with her boob hanging out on Bucky’s couch | I’ve never read something so funny yet hot all at once.

Drops of Jupiter by @imerdwarf • Bucky Barnes x Reader – Bucky has a nightmare and you find him on the rooftop looking up at the stars. | All The Fluff!

Lee Bodecker

One Shots

505 by @captain-barnes-writes • Dark!Lee Bodecker x Reader — On her summer break from college, Y/N embarks on an affair with Lee Bodecker. But she realizes that not all that drips from his lips is honey. | If you are looking for some dark Lee Bodecker, but I mean it’s Lee.. with some of angst thrown in and some smut, this one-shot is for you!

Misc.

Drabbles

I See You by @sevans-is-my-weakness • Colin Shea x TJ Hammond x F!Reader — TJ Hammond is your roommate and Colin Shea is your guys neighbor. | Short read that I enjoyed but I suggest also reading through this masterlist, there’s so much I want to share!

Writers

@bbonkyy - is one of my all time favorite writers but I could be bias as we are friends. I know they haven’t published in a really long time but they still deserve some recognition. They do take request, trust me they write some amazing smut! *chefs kiss*

@nsfwsebbie - Please please please do yourself a favor and check out Sabrina’s concepts masterlist, dark fics, and masterlist, I’m slowly making my way through them. Sabrina has got some writing talent in them and I love reading what they put out!

@mypoisonedvine - Looking for an eclectic collection of characters and different choices to choose from? j.d. has you covered with their stories. I love their writing, the dark, the fluffy and smut.

Writing Challenges:

Mostly a Milestone Writing Challenge hosted by @mostly-marvel-musings | What you need to know: You can write for celebrities but they have to be from the MCU or you can write for MCU characters. You do not have to reserve a spot in this challenge. OFC’s, any pairing, AU is welcome. The due date as of right now is the end of 2021 and the theme is... Romance Movies

Shout Out To My...

@redhead-wine-and-literature-club — Mods Scarlett and Ruby say they read and write fanfiction usually with a glass a wine to go with it. They are pairing characters (Steve and Bucky) Sebastian and Chris have played with wines. In February they’ll have daily prompt challenges. You can check out the club's welcome post here!

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

Not Joyce or Monet

PART THIRTY-NINE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: major discussions of parent death/death in general, smoking, drinking, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 6.3K

Summary: Jess publishes his second book and Ella receives a troubling call from Stars Hollow.

Flopping face-first down onto the bed, Ella breathed a sigh of relief. It would have felt strange not to have a little champagne at Jess’s book launch party. But, she was a lightweight. She was floating somewhere between tipsy, buzzed, and drunk. At least she was still capable of slipping off her shoes before making her way to the bedroom. She’d even managed to change into pajamas, brush her teeth, and wash her face. A far cry from the screwdriver incident at Liz’s baby shower. A heavy winter snow fell outside the windows and a touch of cold air seeped into the draughty apartment. Goosebumps rose lightly on her skin. In her state, they felt nice instead of uncomfortable. She was already dozing when Jess came in, having taken a quick shower. His hair was still damp as he climbed into bed next to her, the movement shaking her from her haze.

“Did you like your party?” she murmured, watching as he shut off the lamp and rolled over to face her.

His face was aglow with the bluish light of the snowy Saturday evening. “Mhm.”

She snickered a bit at his nonchalance. “I know you hate parties, but Chris insisted it was the best way to drum up business. And you do like surprises, Mr. Spontaneity. Matthew and I made it as lowkey as we could.”

“It wasn’t so bad, Eleanor. Really,” he said, shrugging. “You’re remembering that you whispered lines from Catch-22 in my ear all night, right?”

“I figured you’d need some Joseph Heller to make it through,” she explained, slightly sheepish.

Jess smiled. “Of course. And watching Chris and Leo get so drunk they do their acapella version of ‘Under Pressure’ could never be bad.”

“Leo does do a damn good Freddie Mercury,” Ella agreed, chuckling. “I didn’t realize the publishing agents would all go blackout level, too.”

“Oh, yeah. You should’ve seen what Chris did for the Subsect launch. It was like that scene where E.T. gets drunk. But if there were fifty aliens in the movie instead of just one,” Jess said flatly, begrudgingly.

“You must be a little drunk if you’re letting a cheesy eighties movie slip. Or have I finally converted you?” she teased, snuggling deeper into the pillow.

Jess smirked. “Not yet. Chris made me try his Manhattans to see if they ‘tasted too much like gasoline.’”

“I have a sneaking suspicion that they did,” Ella said.

“Someone give the lady a prize,” Jess shot back tiredly. “Good thing we walked there.”

“Yeah. And good thing I got to watch you catch a snowflake with your tongue on the way back.”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed, cutie,” she said, forcing her laughter down. “I’ll be eating my words when you watch me fall on my ass while we’re ice-skating with April.”

She knew if he’d been entirely sober, he wouldn’t have gotten so caught up in his wonderment at the storm. But Ella had also seen him sticking out his tongue awaiting a snowflake in an old, yellowing photo album Liz had shown off during her baby shower. In it, Jess had been no more than three. Dressed in a raggedy winter jacket on some grimy corner of New York City. He and Liz were sticking their tongues out together. Seeing the photo had given Ella’s mouth a bittersweet taste. It was hard to imagine Jess ever feeling so relaxed around his mother. She saw the same rare awe from him on the walk home. Most of the time, he was so weighed down by the world he could barely come up for air. She thought she had never seen him look so young at heart before.

“Can’t wait,” Jess hummed, mocking. It was nearly time for April’s winter break, and Anna had somehow agreed to let her spend it with Luke, Lorelai, and Rory. Ella and Jess had opted to return to Stars Hollow for Christmas, after the bumps in the road on Thanksgiving. Two more days, and they’d be braving the icy roads on their way up to Connecticut. April had already called them to schedule a time for ice-skating. The proper, analytical way the little girl spoke never failed to amuse Ella.

“Me neither,” Ella quipped as her eyelids began to droop again. She could smell the minty scent of Jess’s shampoo.

As he watched her begin to drift off, he leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. From what Matthew had said, Ella had essentially been put in charge of the party when Chris’s trademark irresponsibility made an appearance. Matthew had jury duty and couldn’t assume his usual role of organizer in the wake of Chris’s chaotic decision-making. What she’d managed to throw together, though, was one of the better parties Jess had ever been to. The publishers they knew usually sent younger employees to the underground press launches, and Chris had ended up making friends with most of the usual suspects at the launch for Jess’s first book. Ella had made sure the guest list only included familiar faces. If they just had to throw him a surprise party, which Chris demanded (normally, she wouldn’t have listened, but if it was a matter of getting his book better exposure, she was willing to risk it), she’d try to make it as comfortable for him as possible. Or, at the very least, bearable.

And she’d just gotten done with finals two days earlier. He could see how tired she was. Her nerves over the possibility of seeing her father during the winter holidays hadn’t helped her sleeping recently either. Though Jess wasn’t sure how it would actually pan out, she claimed she wanted an attempt at apologizing for what she’d said at Adam’s graduation. She was sick of family nonsense, she said. Maybe if she levelled the playing field, they could begin to understand each other again. Ella herself wasn’t sure exactly what had sparked her desire to try again with her family, but suspected it might have been Thanksgiving. Jess, simply put, was someone she admired. Seeing him trying to mend his relationships (even though he didn’t have to, even though it was difficult), made her feel just a little more confident. Maybe not everything turned out bad, after all.

Shutting his own eyes, Jess slipped his hand beneath Ella’s shirt, his fingertips ghosting over her back. She smiled softly at his touch, feather-light. A pleasant shiver rolled through her.

“Thank you for the party,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Well, thanks for writing my new favorite book,” she answered instantly, sleepy and sincere. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

.   .   .

There were still a couple hours left until lunchtime when Ella slipped through the door at Truncheon, but it wasn’t entirely uncommon for her to show up and work a little. Especially when she was on break from school and got antsy. Jess had debated giving her the easel he’d bought her for Christmas early, so she would have something new to focus on while he tied up the odds and ends at the book press. But, ultimately, he wanted to wait until the morning after they returned to Philadelphia. It would be far more surprising to wake up and find a Christmas present wrapped up in the living room on the morning of New Year’s Day than on the actual gift-giving holiday.

When he’d left for his last day of work prior to their trip to Connecticut, she’d still been half asleep. Her sketchbook was open on her bedside table, a pencil drawing of a child with hollow eyes having yet to be shaded. She’d been up late working on it the night before, on a roll. He hadn’t even shut the door to the apartment before she was out cold again. He’d been anxious to get back home, to pack and prepare for the trip. In his opinion, there was no use in only opening for a Monday and then closing for the holidays the rest of the week, but Matthew’s stickler spirit won out. Jess wasn’t going to be skipping around the store in merriment as the rest of the world took a vacation, but he also wasn’t moping around like Chris. He was in the midst of diffusing an argument between his two coworkers when Ella arrived.

He wanted to smile when he saw her, and almost did. But then he got a good look at her hazel eyes, and immediately he could tell something was wrong. It wasn’t that she was sleepy, though she looked a bit haggard in with her peacoat tied around her haphazardly and her hair wild, dotted with the snowflakes falling steadily outside. Instead, she looked almost unreachable. His Eleanor who was always so present and vivid and alive, even in the midst of drudgery. And she wasn’t daydreaming, either. She wasn’t off in her own thoughts, thinking of Emily Dickinson or James Joyce or Claude Monet. No; she was simply not there. Not really.

“Hey, honey. You’re early,” he began as she approached him, where he stood in between Matthew and Chris. The two of them didn’t even notice she’d come in until Jess addressed her, still too caught up in their argument over where to place the new books of free-form poetry.

Swallowing harshly, Ella gave a weak smile and raked her fingers through her hair. She walked up to them, wringing her hands together. Jess didn’t need to see her hands to know she had already bitten her nails down to the quick. At the interruption, Chris gave a frustrated huff and turned to Ella.

“Ella, please tell Matthew it makes zero sense to put the free-form poetry anywhere near the sonnets! They should be on opposite ends of the store, as far as I’m concerned,” he exclaimed in exasperation.

Matthew rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as his jaw clenched. “I’m glad you’re here, Ella. Please tell Chris that we don’t only sell poetry, and free-form or not, it has no business anywhere near science fiction!”

Furrowing her brows, distracted, Ella shook her head. “Um...I don’t know...but I….”

“What?” Jess asked as she gestured slightly with her hands. Her face was pale, and she almost seemed confused, at a loss for words. It didn’t happen to her often, to say the least.

Blowing out a breath, she tried again, jerking her thumb back over her shoulder. “Back at the apartment...I just got a call from my brother. My dad’s dead.”

Jess’s heart dropped into his stomach. “What?”

“Yeah,” Ella said, nodding. As she continued, she took a hair elastic from her wrist and began pulling her locks into a ponytail. “Adam said he was in a car accident this morning. Driving home from some bar in Maryland. If I had to guess, he was still a little drunk from last night. No one else got hurt, which is good. He hit a patch of black ice, and he was going too fast, and I guess he just went right off the road. Into a tree. And he wasn’t wearing his seatbelt.”

Her speech became more urgent with every word, as they heard it sink in for her in real time. But she was never frantic, only determined and stern. The spacey fog was fading from her demeanor, though it remained in her eyes. Only in her eyes. She didn’t give them time to respond, just kept thinking out loud.

“Noah’s already on a plane from Oregon, but I don’t think he’s gonna be any help. And Adam said Fiona’s freaking out, so I’m almost definitely going to have to make the arrangements. I know you guys have work and stuff, but we need to pack up and get there before the rest of the family does, or everything will probably just explode on principle. Fuck! This is just like him. To die a week before Christmas!”

“Whoa, hey, Eleanor, just slow down for a second, okay?” Jess began, taking a hesitant step towards her and grabbing her hand. He squeezed once, hard, hoping to calm her down at least a little.

“Jesus, Ella-” Chris began.

“I’m so sorry,” Matthew said.

Ella shook her head, her face stoic. “Don’t, okay? Don’t be sorry. No one needs to be sorry. He was a fucking drunk, and it finally caught up with him. I just need to get back to Stars Hollow to take care of this, and then maybe Christmas won’t be completely ruined. Sound good?”

“Elle, just hold on. You should sit down and-” Jess said, but she cut him off.

“No, Jess. Seriously, I’m fine. Let’s just go and get it over with, and then it’ll be done,” she said, her hand never leaving his though she didn’t squeeze back. Her tone was tight, clipped, but she didn’t sound angry. He recognized it from the night on the bridge when she’d told him about the days following her mother’s death. The way she held it all together, and blocked it all out. Numb and headstrong.

“Do you want us to come with?” Matthew asked, watching with uncertainty as Ella began to tug Jess towards the door, grabbing his bag for him and handing him his coat.

“What? Of course not,” Ella said, insistent, as though it were obvious. “All I need to do is steal Jess for a few days. You need to do whatever it is you’re gonna do with Mabel. And Chris needs to do whatever it is he’s gonna do with Leo, and you need to tell me about it when we get back. I can pretty much guarantee your stories will be more fun than mine.”

“Are you sure?” Chris chimed in, brow heavy with worry. Her iciness surprised him. He had never heard someone react to a parent’s death quite so flippantly before.

“Yes. Jesus, Chris, keep up,” she replied, in a way which would have spurred a playful argument on a normal day. Again, her nonchalance unnerved all three of them.

Jess interlocked their fingers again instantly once he had his bag and his coat, almost heading out the door already. She was moving too fast for him to process much of anything, only reacting. He hadn’t seen her in such a frenzy in a very long time. “Eleanor, wait. Stop.”

“I can’t stop, Jess. I told you, we’ve gotta get there before my uncle has time to hit on Fiona and before Noah has time to piss off Adam. It’s fine. I promise. I’m fine.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but she pulled him out the front door instead. As they went, she shouted over her shoulder to Matthew and Chris: “Happy holidays! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

And then, she and Jess were gone. Chris and Matthew exchanged concerned, flabbergasted glances.

.   .   .

Flashback was the word that came to the forefront of her mind, as she stared up at the ceiling in the Gilmore living room. Luke and Lorelai were trying, and she appreciated it. They could both tell she didn’t want to talk about it, only wanted a bit of normalcy after the long day. And they’d obliged. After all, they’d had practice. Lorelai knew exactly what to do. She’d had Luke bring dinner home from the diner: turkey sandwiches and sodas. She’d suggested they watch a movie after dinner, something campy horror. Finally, they had settled on The Lost Boys. Ella knew how much Jess hated the movie, especially Kiefer Sutherland’s mullet, but he never complained once. A large part of her wished he would. She wanted it to be the way it was supposed to be. She wanted to have Christmas in Stars Hollow with the people who felt more like her family than her father did. Adam celebrating with one of his school friends in Boston, Fiona with her sister, Noah with his finacée in Oregon. But, of course, things never went as planned. Not in Ella’s experience at least.

At some point during the movie, she’d fallen asleep on the couch. No matter how much she wanted to stay awake until the end, she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Dealing with Fiona’s blubbering and Adam’s silence and Noah’s anger had pretty well exhausted her. Not to mention the business setting up the funeral at the church. She’d spent nearly two hours with the pastor, but the service was only halfway planned. She wished Aunt Julie could arrive sooner, but the girls were in school until Tuesday. Erin had some big recital she was pitching a fit about missing. Ella couldn’t blame her. She wouldn’t want to be there if she didn’t have to be. No, they would arrive on Wednesday morning. Two hours before the funeral, set for noon. At some point before then, Ella would have to sort out the flower arrangements and the music and the programs. At least Luke was providing the food. She assumed he would before he even offered. And she would have to write the eulogy. But she wasn’t even thinking about it yet. Every time the idea of writing it entered her mind, she would start humming a Stevie Nicks song and pointedly ignore it.

It was all too familiar. The planning, the writing, the consoling. Since they’d arrived in Stars Hollow that afternoon, it had been a non stop barrage of tasks and tears. None of it was surprising. And it almost made her want to laugh. The minute she heard that her mother was dead, she had burst out laughing, a nervous reaction she couldn’t control. Granted, the laughter came from deep inside her, and probably resembled a pained shriek more than an actual giggle. But it was laughter nonetheless, and her father had recognized it as such. He’d yelled at her until his voice became hoarse. She knew it wouldn’t happen again. He was the dead one now, after all. But still, she didn’t let the anxious laughter escape. She didn’t let anything escape. After the punishment she’d received for letting go last time, she knew not to do it again. No one was there to smack her, to scream, but she just couldn’t bring herself to forget how it had felt. Like she couldn’t even grieve right. And the best way to grieve became to not grieve at all.

She laid with one hand on her stomach and the other behind her head, analyzing the popcorn ceiling. She’d awoken with the room dim and the TV shut off. A quilt which she hadn’t fallen asleep under was draped over her, and there were hushed whispers in the direction of the kitchen. She hadn’t planned to wake up until morning, but she hadn’t planned to fall asleep there either. They were supposed to be sleeping in the apartment above the diner for the vacation, while Rory and April took the spare beds in the Gilmore house. But neither girl had yet to arrive, and Lorelai insisted Ella and Jess stay over after dinner. It was no use driving over in the snow, even if Luke’s was only about a minute away. Ella couldn’t believe how similar it all was to before. Sleeping alone on the Gilmore couch as others worried over her a few feet away.

She listened, in spite of herself. It was too tempting not to eavesdrop when she’d already heard her name so many times. Luke was concerned about her forgetting to eat. Lorelai was concerned about her shutting everyone out and being overwhelmed by the funeral preparations. And both of them were concerned about her coming to blows with Fiona at some point in the next few days.

Sighing, Ella ran her tongue over her teeth and remembered she hadn’t brushed them. She debated not doing so, but decided to just bite the bullet. With everything else on her mind, she thought it best to eliminate all the outward elements which might impede her from getting back to sleep. She rolled over on her side, preparing to sit up, when she saw Jess. She thought he’d be in the kitchen, talking with Luke and Lorelai. Instead, he sat on the floor with his back against the sofa. His head was near hers, leaned back. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t snoring. She doubted he was fully asleep, but nonetheless attempted to get past him and rummage through the bag on the armchair to find her toothbrush. Her stealth proved lacking, however, when he began to stir as soon as she reached the bag.

“Hey,” he said quietly, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands and doing his best to seem lively. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied, fishing her toothbrush out from the sea of clothes she’d thrown into the duffel before they sped away from the apartment in Philadelphia. “I just forgot to brush my teeth.”

“Oh,” he said, nodding and hoisting himself up. His neck was already sore from the position he’d dozed off in, unwilling to follow Luke and Lorelai into the kitchen with Ella asleep on the couch. “Me too. I’ll come with.”

She nodded back, grabbing his toothbrush as well. The whispers didn’t cease until they made their way into the kitchen, Luke and Lorelai looking up at their entrance. Ella debated using the upstairs bathroom, not disturbing the two of them. But she didn’t have the energy to climb the stairs, and it would be the first time she could get a good look at the new half-bathroom they added next to Rory’s room. The smell of the diner food lingered, and it made Ella’s chest feel just a touch less tight. Lorelai broke out into a small smile at the sight of the two of them.

“You need anything, sweetie?” she asked, speaking only to Ella.

Though she felt a bit uncomfortable under everyone’s gaze, Ella smiled back. There was a warmth in her stomach at Lorelai’s voice. She focused on that feeling, and only that feeling. “No, we’re fine. Just brushing our teeth. The dentist would be pissed at me if I broke the pattern after over twenty years.”

“That’s true. Always best to avoid the Sweeney Todd dentistry possibility,” Lorelai agreed, nodding. Then, she yawned theatrically and looked at Luke, who only rolled his eyes at the dramatics. “I think we’re gonna head upstairs. It’s past our bedtime.”

“Still got those four o’clock deliveries, huh?” Jess asked sullenly, eyeing Luke. Many a morning when he was a teenager, he’d been awoken at half past three by the sound of Luke’s alarm.

Luke sighed. “For the business that housed and fed you for two years? Yeah, I do.”

Ella snorted a laugh, and nudged Jess playfully in the ribs. “Like you’re not always up before the sun, even on Saturday.”

“Where do you think that started?” Jess shot back, pointing an accusatory finger at Luke. “He screwed with my internal clock for life!”

“I think that’s enough fuel for future therapy sessions for tonight,” Lorelai announced, rising from the table, Luke following.

“Agreed,” Luke grumbled.

As they exchanged goodnights, Lorelai gave Ella a kiss on the cheek. Immediately after, she scrunched up her nose and smudged the lipstick from Ella’s freckled skin with her thumb. To Ella’s shock, Lorelai also gave Jess a short hug before making for the stairs. Luke hugged Jess,  too. The two of them still had trouble showing physical affection for each other, as they probably always would. Ella had to stifle a laugh at the awkwardness between them.

When Luke hugged Ella, though, she felt tears prick at her eyes for the first time all day. She recognized his familiar smell, the soft feeling of his flannel, his strong arms around her. Somewhere in her mind, it occurred to her that the way it felt for Luke to hug her was what she had always wanted it to feel like when her own father hugged her. And she knew for sure she would never get it from him. She could finally be certain there was nothing left to do to repair her relationship with him. There was no time left for Jake to make her feel as safe as Luke made her feel. As he never had, even in her childhood. But by the time she and Luke broke apart, she had gathered herself enough. She cleared her throat and blinked away the glassy sheen in her eyes.

Luke ruffled her hair as he stepped back from her. If he saw that she was upset, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Don’t worry, kid. We’ll get everything figured out tomorrow.”

“I know, boss,” she replied.

.   .   .

The cigarette smoke made her a bit nauseous, but it was also comforting in a way she was slightly ashamed of. The winter air was crisp and biting, and her cheeks were frosted roses. Embers glowed orange in the darkness as she took a long drag, burning her lungs. She was already regretting it, but she simply felt too tired to think out the actual consequences of what she was doing. She had tried. She really had. But falling asleep, with Jess snoring softly beneath her as they lay on the couch, was absolutely impossible. Fatigue was weighing down her bones, and there was a perpetual ache throbbing behind her eyes. But each time she got close to sleep, the thought of her father would flash across her mind, and she would be wide awake once more.

Once she gave up, she had managed to sneak outside unnoticed. The wind whispered past her, hollow and haunting. But maybe everything was feeling spookier because death was at the forefront of her mind. Then again, when wasn’t it? Though the shock had certainly hit her with full force when she heard the news, she couldn’t bring herself to be surprised. The other shoe had dropped. She knew it would, just when she let her guard down. The moment she forgot to worry, the universe had knocked her down again. She flicked her cigarette and watched the excess ash melt a small spot in the snow below the steps.

At the sound of the front door creaking open, she startled only a little. For a wild moment, she wanted to put her cigarette out and hide it behind her back, pretending to be innocent. Especially if it was Luke. But she had to remember she was a grown up. And the feeling disappeared entirely when she saw only a disheveled Jess wrapping himself up in his jacket as he came out onto the porch and sat down next to her.

“You’re gonna catch a cold out here,” he remarked, holding her peacoat out to her.

She took it with a trembling hand.

“Thank you,” she said solemnly, breathing out a long stream of smoke as she spoke. The coat was old and cheap, and did little to help a Connecticut winter, but she shrugged it on anyway.

He nodded, chewing on his bottom lip. “Don’t mention it.”

They sat in silence, an owl hooting somewhere in the trees beyond the house. Ella didn’t put the cigarette out until it got so small it began to burn her fingers. After she’d discarded it, her breath still puffed out, along with Jess’s, in frigid white clouds. Flurries of snow fell in scattered sprays, but the night was mostly quiet and overcast. Jess crossed his arms over his chest, waiting.

She spoke, as he knew she eventually would, after a few more minutes. Gesturing down to the crushed cigarette, her tired eyes met his. “Do you want one?”

“No, thanks,�� he said, shaking his head. “Where’d you get those in the middle of the night in Stars Hollow, anyway?”

A thin smirk ghosted over her lips. “Snatched ‘em off Bootsy’s newsstand.”

“Really?” he asked, laughing slightly, with eyebrows raised.

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Don’t act so surprised, Mariano. I was sneaking out of my bedroom window long before you got here.”

“Touché.” His eyes lingered on her, hair glistening golden in the soft light and eyes still far off somewhere miles away. He hesitated before he continued. “Did you walk all the way to Bootsy’s without a coat?”

She shrugged, glancing down at the Doc Martens on her feet. “I’m fine. I had my good shoes on. Besides, it’s only like a minute away.”

“Alright.”

“Seriously, Jess. I’m fine,” she snapped after a moment.

“Okay. I get it,” he said instantly. “You’re fine. You’re not cold.”

Ella ran her hands through her hair. Her body shook as she yawned.

“You wanna go back to bed?” he asked.

“No,” she said with a heavy sigh.

“Are you sure?”

“Jesus, Jess! Stop trying to take care of me! Stop asking me questions! Just let me fucking sit here!” Ella exclaimed, huffing in frustration.

Jess recoiled slightly, and he nodded at her again. He ran a hand over his mouth and swallowed down the million other questions which were rising in his throat. The ones she’d refused to ask on the drive up, and the ones she apparently still wanted to avoid. “Sorry.”

She rolled her eyes, mostly at herself. “No, I’m...I’m sorry. I’m just tired. I couldn’t fall asleep.”

“We don’t have to sleep if you don’t want to. We could watch one of Lorelai’s cassettes in there,” Jess suggested, fighting hard to keep his tone light, bracing for whatever reaction she was going to have.

“I love that she still has cassettes,” Ella said wistfully, though not smiling. Her voice was low and raspy as she stared out ahead of her into the darkness and the lightly falling snow.

He nodded a little. “I know you do.”

Ella’s hands were itching to hold another cigarette, but she fought the urge. The pack which sat on the porch steps next to her would almost certainly be crumpled up and thrown in the trash the moment she reentered the house. Along with the lighter. But it was nice to have them there. If she wanted. They sat wordlessly, listening to the rustle of the wind in the evergreen trees. Jess didn’t make a sound. He was just far away enough not to touch her, almost in silent askance of whether she wanted space. She did. And she didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to talk almost as much as she didn’t want to write the eulogy. She wanted to be able to push down the sorrow and the rage until they just dissolved and she was as happy as she had been just a day earlier. Yesterday, she may have even been hopeful. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt hopeful about her family. But, now, she had to stop herself from reaching for a cigarette yet again. And she felt herself wanting a drink. A drink stronger than champagne at a book launch. And then the words started flowing before she could overthink them, before she could lock them away in her heart forever.

She swallowed thickly, looking down into her lap at her nail-bitten hands. “This is just like it was the last time.”

“Oh yeah?” he whispered, shifting a bit closer to her.

“Yeah,” she echoed, so quiet he almost couldn’t hear. She sniffed. “I mean, last time my dad was the devastated one instead of Fiona. But Adam still got pissed at Noah, and Noah only got more pissed because Adam was mad at him.”

Noah had only made it to town an hour before Ella left to go back to the Gilmore residence for the night, but he and Adam were at each other’s throats pretty much as soon as they saw each other. Upset that his Christmas vacation was being disrupted, Noah had insisted on staying at a motel instead of at the little blue house in which they had grown up. Adam wasn’t happy about it, accusing Noah of acting as though he was too good for them. In turn, Noah asked Adam why he wasn’t mad at Ella for staying with Lorelai. Adam had shot back immediately, saying Noah had abandoned the entire family the minute he could, while Ella stayed behind. At that point, Ella knew there was no way to diffuse the situation. She’d only offered to walk back with Noah to the motel, leaving Adam to sleep in his old room. Luckily, Fiona’s sister was already in town for the holiday. So, it didn’t wholly fall to any of the three of them to console her.

Jess and Luke had both offered to go over to the house with her after helping with the arrangements, but she’d insisted on meeting her brothers there alone. The surreality of the moment didn’t dawn on her until she saw Adam’s teary eyes and Noah’s flushed face. It was like she had stepped into the past. She’d come back to the Gilmore house to find Jess sitting in the living room, halfway through the Russian novel he’d brought with. In the face of his questions, she’d only given him the liner notes and then fallen mostly silent for the rest of the evening.

“And Lorelai and Luke won’t let me brush my teeth without asking me if I need anything,” Ella continued, with a scoff in her words. “And, I love them. I do. And I’m so fucking grateful that it hurts. But, I’m fine. I’m totally fucking fine.”

“So I’ve heard,” he quipped.

“You’re hilarious.”

“I’ve heard that, too,” he said.

She laughed breathily, lifting her head to look up at the sky. “Shut up.”

“Will do.”

Then, after a moment: “I just wish...I wish it wasn’t like this. I mean, he was a shitty dad. But he was still my dad.”

He watched as she chose her words, carefully. Her voice had more emotion than he’d heard all day. Bringing his arm around her shoulders, he hoped to lessen the trembling of her hands just a little. She leaned into him, letting herself feel his warmth but fighting the wateriness in her voice. Of all the things she didn’t want to do, crying was at the top of the list.

“And now...I don’t have parents. I don’t even have a dad who hates me and never calls,” she continued.

“He didn’t hate you,” Jess interjected.

She shook her head. “Yeah, he did, Jess. He fucking hated me. Because I looked like my mom and I didn’t like Fiona and I wouldn’t quit talking back at the dinner table. But it doesn’t bother me. I hated him most of the time, too.”

He hummed in response, listening.

Her face crumpled for only a moment. But, again, she regained her composure. A couple silent tears threatened to slip over. “But at least I had someone to hate, y’know? Now, it’s just...no one.”

She took in a shaky breath, and Jess began to rub circles over her back. He recognized that her shivering was no longer due to the cold but from the sobs she wouldn’t let loose. Ella’s stomach did a flip, as she clenched her hands into fists. But she just couldn’t hold it in any longer. She let a single wimper pass her lips. And then, the levee broke. She put her head in her hands and finally began to weep, cries from deep within her escaping at last.

“I just...I don’t have p-parents anymore,” she spoke through sobs, trying to get her voice under control but failing miserably. “I’m not anyone’s daughter anymore. I don’t belong to anyone anymore.”

Jess shut his eyes for a moment, feeling a crack in his heart as he heard her anguish. But a part of him was relieved she was finally letting it out. He knew not all of her tears were for her father, but for her mother as well. He’d never seen her cry so hard before, so hard she couldn’t catch her breath and she was beginning to feel sick to her stomach. She stopped being able to talk after a while, only crying, folding in on herself.

“I...I don’t...belong to anyone anymore,” she repeated.

Gnawing on his bottom lip again, Jess smoothed an affectionate hand over her hair. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Though he couldn’t see her face, Ella felt her cheeks heat up at his seeing her sob so openly. Jess spoke in a clear, strong tone.

“Listen, Eleanor, I know it feels like you’re alone without them, but that’s not true, okay?” he said.

She let out a tearful scoff.

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m serious,” Jess continued, placing a hand on her damp cheek and turning her face gently so she would look at him.

She wanted to avoid his eyes, embarrassed, but simply couldn’t bring herself to look anywhere else. The sight of him almost made her physically relax.

An earnest crease stood out between his eyebrows when he spoke again. “You belong to me, and I belong to you. That’s how it’s always been, hasn’t it?”

She stared at him for a moment, stunned at his words, as tears kept rolling steadily down her cheeks. But then, her lip began to quiver and she closed her eyes. Jess was worried she was about to get angry again. But instead, she slumped weakly against him. He could feel her tears begin to wet the neckline of his t-shirt as she rested her head on his chest. Breathing out long and slow, Jess wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t know whether his words had helped, but he was doubtful. No amount of talking was going to make her feel any better. He couldn’t crack a joke or start a playful argument or do a magic trick. He could only be there. He simply sat and held her against the wind.

[sithsecrets]

A Matter of Expediency - Part XII

After being married off to Kylo Ren in the name of securing an heir to the First Order’s throne, a princess tries to navigate the ins and outs of married life. As she grows closer to her new husband, the princess also carves out a place for herself in the Order, assuming control over her life when she thought she would have none.

---

Part 12

4k words

Mentions: allusions to past/possible abuse, swearing, sad themes about pregnancy

---

Final preparations for your charity gala are done in the snow, puffy white flakes falling from an overcast sky as servants bustle about the Palgoduan castle. You oversee some of the goings-on, a bit tired from your fitful night’s sleep. Kylo is elsewhere, preoccupied with some Order business of a different sort, and you cannot help but feel a bit thankful. Though you’re in better spirits today, sadness lingers at your core, and the last thing you need right now is Kylo asking you if everything’s alright.

Queen Eleanor is by your side for most of the morning, holding her pregnant stomach as the two of you walk about together. She is so sweet, this Queen of Palgodu, but you still feel a pang of jealousy each time you lay eyes on her, on her children and her body. You ty very hard to do as Miriam told you, to not dwell on your empty, fruitless womb, but that’s easier said than done.

At midday, the Queen declares that she is practically starving to death, and she very graciously invites you to take lunch with her and the children. Your first impulse is to decline the invitation, your raw heart wanting nothing more than to avoid sad reminders of all that you do not have, but you force yourself to accept anyway. It wouldn’t do to appear rude, and this childish little self-pity party must come to an end sometime.

You eat in a small, informal dining room in the company of Princess Maudie, baby Eli, and the children’s nurse, Mya. The meal you’re served is rich and heavy, lots of hearty meats, cheeses, and winter vegetables. Queen Eleanor practically inhales a slab of red meat all on her own, eating ravenously in a way that makes you believe that she really was starving.

Princess Maudie takes great interest you as lunch carries on, regarding you curiously as she munches on bits of shredded meat and little slices of fruit.

“Who are you?” the little girl asks after a while, head cocked to one side as she stares you down from across the table.

“Maudie, we talked about this,” her mother chides. “This is the Empress of the galaxy.”

“You met her yesterday, darling,” Mya adds.

Maudie seems perplexed by this revelation, though she moves past it quickly. Her next inquiry centers around why you’re here, asking next where you live after you tell her about your charity work. After serval minutes of intense grilling, Queen Eleanor and Mya tell Maudie that that’s enough.

“Nonsense,” you declare, amused by the little girl’s line of questioning. She’s quite intrigued by the fact that you live on a ship in space all the time, and she wants to meet Kylo again since she, quote, “forgot about him, too.”

You’re in better spirits when you retreat back to your chambers, but rather tired. A nap would do you good before the party, you think, so you draw the curtains and climb into bed. Sleep comes easily, and it’s some time before you wake again.

The room is no different when you open your eyes, sunlight still trying in vain to seep in through the thick curtains you shut tight. Everything is dim and dark, just as it should be, but you’re no longer alone as you were when you lied down.

“Good afternoon,” Kylo murmurs, the pad of his thumb soft and warm on your cheek.

Snuggling against your husband’s touch, you give him a sleepy, loose smile. “It certainly is now.”

---

The merrymaking is well underway by sunset, everyone drinking and dancing and chattering happily as if none of you have a care in the world. Many important officials from around the galaxy are strewn about the room, your cause’s most generous benefactor by far. Others are around as well, of course, lesser nobles from Palgodu, a few choice friends. To your utter joy, Lydia, Helda, and Joon could all make it tonight, and you’re practically vibrating at the thought of seeing them again. Comm correspondence just isn’t the same, and you can’t wait to hear all about what’s been going on in their lives in person.

You and Kylo’s arrival is met with thunderous applause, though you’re thankful that you don’t have to formally receive any guests the way you did at your wedding reception. Nonetheless, you do a fair bit of schmoozing out on the floor, greeting ambassadors and generous benefactors alike as Kylo accompanies you. He’s quiet, letting you do all the talking, but the adoration in his eyes is not lost on you every time you look his way.

Joon finds you first, mercifully saving both you and your husband from a rather droll conversation with a couple of diplomats. Her approach is slow and deliberate, though smile on her face is wide.

“I was going to just run up and hug you,” Joon says, fitting the both of you together in an embrace, “but Nobi said that two Praetorian Reds would probably cave my head in before I could explain myself.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, squeezing your friend soundly. Even Kylo cracks a little smile, though it seems he doesn’t know quite how to act naturally in this situation.

Joon has much to tell you, talking your ear off as she whisks you away from the party’s main staging area. To your utter joy, Helda and Lydia are waiting for you off to the side, nursing drinks and talking idly until they see you approach. Their embraces are painfully and spectacularly familiar, warm in the way that true friendship should make one feel. Stars, you think you might cry as you look upon their faces, upon Lydia’s dark eyes and Helda’s red curls.

Poor Kylo is nothing more than an afterthought for a few minutes as you and Joon and Helda and Lydia all make over one another, chittering like birds and grinning like happy children. Only when he gently grasps your wrist do you remember yourself.

“I’m going to speak with Hux, darling,” Kylo tells you, bending down to press a kiss to your cheek. You feel bad then, expression melting into something apologetic and you twine your fingers together.

“I’m sorry,” you say, “you really don’t have to go.”

Unbothered, Kylo shakes his head. “I want you to speak freely with your friends. Find me in while, please.”

And with one last kiss on your face, your husband turns on his heel to leave, striding off in a dark swirl of cloak. You can feel eyes on your before you so much as turn back to face your friends, all of them no doubt about to tease you mercilessly.

“So that’s the galaxy’s biggest tyrant?” Joon muses, one eyebrow cocked. Helda’s grin is as sly as she can muster, and even Lydia seems pleasantly intrigued for once in her life.

“He’s not so bad,” you murmur, glancing over your shoulder at the back of Kylo’s retreating head.

“We’re glad to see that,” Lydia declares, the look in her eyes uncharacteristically soft.

There’s no more talk of Kylo after that, or of men in general, for the four of go out onto the dancefloor together. It’s just like old times again, you and your friends spinning and jumping and holding hands in time to the music, wisps of hair clinging to your flushed faces. And though it’s all great fun, you tire of the activity after a while, thirsty and a bit too sweaty for your liking under the thick fabric of your gown.

Helda and Joon split off from you and Lydia, both going in separate directions. It’s grown a bit late, Helda’s mother beckoning her away, Joon’s boyfriend missing her by his side. Lydia and yourself grab something refreshing to drink and head outside, warm despite the chill in the air. Neither of you says anything for a while, simply sipping out of your respective cups as the two of you take in the night.

You turn your gaze Lydia’s way, studying her face, the set of her shoulders. There’s something lighter about her, something… peaceful. As long as you’ve known Lydia, you’ve seen her happy or content, but at peace? Never, not once. It looks beautiful on her, truly.

“What’s happened to you?” you ask, words coming out of your mouth along with an icy puff of air.

Lydia turns to you, eyebrows narrowed, her own breath fogging before her face in the darkness. “What do you mean?”

“You seem different,” you explain, “like all the weight’s fallen off your heart.”

Lydia rolls her eyes at that bit of poetry, but the smile that creeps over her face is rather telling.

“I’m… I’m with someone now.”

A noise of surprise escapes your lips, uncontainable as a bolt of unbridled excitement shocks your chest. Lydia shies away from your exclamation, but you won’t let her off that easily.

“Who is he?” you demand, grabbing her arms now. “Where is he from? What does he do?”

“His name is Jacob, he’s from our planet, and he owns a manufacturing facility,” Lydia tells you, answering all of your questions in one go. “We met a couple of months ago at a harvest party in the country.”

“’Months,’” you breathe, though you can’t bring yourself to be angry at Lydia for not telling you about all of this until now. She’s so guarded, always has been— you’d be a fool for expecting anything less.

“I know,” Lydia concedes, speaking quietly. Some of the light in her eyes flickers for just a moment, jarring you from your euphoric state. “I wanted to be sure it would be different this time.”

You cup Lydia’s cheek then, willing her to stop thinking of that vile man you’re sure she’s seeing in her mind.

“Is he good to you?” you ask, because that’s all you care about. “I mean really good to you.”

And, as if someone flicked a switch, that soft, soft light is glowing in Lydia’s eyes again.

“Jacob is kind,” she tells you, “with his words and with his hands.”

You can’t help the tears that slip down your cheeks, hot reminders of how truly happy you are for this friend of yours. For Lydia, who deserves all of this and so much more.

“Well that’s good,” you begin, swiping at your cheeks, “because if he wasn’t, I’d have to have him executed.”

Lydia lets out a little laugh then, a real one, not one of the humorless barks that you’re much more accustomed to hearing. “I assure you he has no reason to tremble at your feet, Empress.”

It’s a jab, the emphasis Lydia puts on your title, but a playful one. You shove her for it still, rolling your eyes.

“If I remember correctly, you told me you’d help me become a runaway bride at my wedding reception, Lydia.”

The both of you break down into chuckles then, laughing at yourselves and at each other. And though it’s cold, though the wind is biting at your back through your bodice, you feel so very warm, wrapped in the company of an old friend.

“So when do I get to meet this Jacob?” you ask, locking arms with Lydia as the two of you retreat back into the warmth of the party. Your friend shrugs, as practical as ever.

“Well, if you’re willing to endure Princess Mila’s wedding—”

Your whole body shudders to a stop, your feet nearly tangling in your skirts as you take in that particular combination of words.

“Mila’s what?”

Lydia balks beside you, obviously taken aback by your surprise. “You didn’t know? Mila’s due to marry in a month. Your uncle arranged it, I’m sure, some nonsense about making mineral alliances. I can’t believe no one told you. Rumor has it that you and the Supreme Leader were to be invited.”

You’re not sure about all of that, given how you left things with your uncle and his children the night before your wedding, but the news itself is still… discomforting. Mila hasn’t shown you an ounce of kindness in years, but you know good and well what her father’s capable of. Stars, he sold you off without so much as a second thought, not caring what became of you once you were sent to live with Kylo. Everything worked out in your favor, but how were you, or him, or anybody else for that matter supposed to know that? Besides, you don’t think your uncle could get so lucky twice.

Lydia submits to a virtual interrogation right there in the middle of the party, giving up the name of Mila’s betrothed, the exact date of her wedding, and a few other pieces of information that are more gossip than confirmed fact. Apparently, most of the maids and the concubines are saying that your uncle’s selling Mila off to pay some of his gambling debts, the matter made even more sickening by the fact that her future husband is nearly as old as your uncle himself. The mere of idea of this makes your blood boil, for your marriage to Kylo bagged him similar benefits just earlier this year. And, to your horror, the man’s raised taxes on his people yet again without explanation.

Knowing your uncle, he’s taking every single credit and putting it right back on the card table. You knew he was a man who liked to have a good time, but fuck…

“I have to go speak to my husband,” you tell Lydia, pulling her into a quick hug before you start walking off. “Thank you, Lydia, really.”

Kylo is thrilled to see you, tucking you against his side with one strong arm as the officers around him bow. While the affection does make your heart bubble a bit, the anxiety you feel is much more pressing.

“May I speak with you?” you ask Kylo, praying that he senses your urgency.

Your husband takes you away at once, guiding you through the castle and back to your shared chambers without so much as a word of question. He listens intently as you tell him everything, rambling about Mila and your uncle and how the taxes on your planet’s people were already astronomically high to begin with.

“Do you have proof that he’s using the taxpayers’ credits to fund his lifestyle?” Kylo asks, coming to help you with the zipper on your dress. You shake your head as you slip your arms out of the sleeves, rushing to throw on something comfortable and warm.

“No,” you concede, “but I know how he is. When I came to live with him, I always wondered how he afforded the parties, and the women, and everything else that he fills his free time with. And it worries me that my uncle’s already angling to having his debts paid off again, especially at the expense of shipping Mila off to be with a man that he could have gone to school with. She’s supposed to be finishing her education, not helping him get out from under a bad habit.”

Kylo nods at that, though the look in his eyes expresses reservation. “My love,” he begins slowly, “why… why do you want to help your cousin? From what you’ve told me, she’s been awful to you all your life, and I certainly didn’t like what I saw of her at our rehearsal dinner.”

It’s a good question, and a hard one to answer at that. Kylo lets you think for a moment, pulling together some night clothes to wear to bed in the meantime.

“I want to help her because… because my uncle won’t live forever, and it’s not like he’s doing a good job of ruling as it is. My uncle may be impulsive, but he’s not stupid. Sebastian couldn’t pour water out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel, and Tensin is no better. Mila, though… Mila is cruel, but her wit is sharp. Without her working behind her brothers, the planet’s fucked.”

You pause for a minute, a bit irritated by your more sentimental feelings now.

“And, as a woman, I can’t send her off to marry that man. He’s old enough to be her father, and you know how all of those Valderan mineral barons are. I worry about what would become of her, what he would make her do…” You picture Lydia’s sad eyes, and something in your chest clenches. “Mila may be awful, but I can’t sell her out like that, not for my uncle’s bullshit. I remember how afraid I was when we got engaged, how much I feared not being able to please you.”

Kylo’s hand is warm on your face, the back of his fingers stroking over the curve of your cheek. You press into the touch, taking his hand in both of your own.

“But of course, all of my worrying was for naught because you’re more loving and gentle than I could have ever imagined. You respect me, and you want me to be happy, but I have a feeling that that’s not how Mila’s husband will feel.”

“If you think something must be done, then by all means, step in. I’ll have a ship prepared for you tomorrow at once.”

The both of you go to get in bed, more to relax than to lie down the night.

“No,” you say, waving Kylo off, “let me do some digging first. I want to be sure I’m right before I go off and make a big fuss at home.”

---

You’re back on the Supremacy by late afternoon, anxious to get to the bottom of all of this. Hux, ever the good friend, briefs the Board of Charitable Affairs for you, allowing you time to hole up in your office for most of the day.

You pore over financial documents, intel from First Order informants, and numerous reports, looking for discrepancies or abnormalities in your home planets spending and accounts. It’s no surprise to find that your uncle’s run up a long list of expenses, many of which are listed as “miscellaneous” or “personal”— or, to the layperson, stimulants and whores. However, no one’s cooking the books. It appears as though every credit is accounted for, every tax dollar where it should be— the money’s just being spent like it’s in the hands of a child. With everything correct (in an extremely technical sense) on your uncle’s end, you move on to Mila’s fiancé, a nagging feeling in your gut telling you that he warrants investigation.

Tarlak Tu’Iuni is middle-aged, decent-looking, and filthily, disgustingly rich. Mineral money, naturally, seeing that he was born and raised on Valdera. He’s never been married before Mila, but he has a couple of illegitimate daughters that he seems to care for in some capacity. However, Tarlak’s personal life matters little to you. It’s always the money with the mineral barons; they can be perfectly good people in their personal lives— real upstanding citizens, even— but they just cannot keep their accounts straight to save their lives. They always want a little extra, they’re always moving money around… Lets just say that paying taxes and being frugal are two things that do not come easily to the Vaderan elite.

But, well— you’re the Empress of the Known Galaxy. For every slick accountant a mineral baron like Tarlak Tu’Iuni has in his corner, you have five even slicker financial investigators in yours.

Your team comes to you with a report in a matter of hours, and you nearly fall down when you learn of their findings.

“You’re absolutely sure?” you ask the woman before you, clutching onto the datapad in your hands for dear life.

“We triple checked all of the transactions. These people are good, I must admit,” she affirms, shaking her. “This is the sort of fraud you have to really look for. I’m not surprised we weren’t tipped off until you made us start looking for inconsistencies.”

You blow out a huge breath, anxious and enraged all at once as you scroll through the numbers. Your companion’s right— even laid out plainly this way, most it seems legit.

“Would you like me to contact the Guard?”

“No,” you tell the woman, though you’re grateful for her loyalty and sense of urgency. “Tell no one of this. I’ll handle it.”

“Yes, Empress.”

And then you and your bearer of bad news are going your separate ways, she to brief the team on your wishes and you to find your husband.

It’s later than you’d realized, the intensity of your work sapping away time with little effort. The ship’s night cycle is well underway, guard shifts down to barebones personnel, most corridors empty and quiet.

Kylo is with his nights, just as you suspected, the lot of them stowed away in a dark corner of the ship that they like to frequent. Each one rises to their feet upon seeing you, the Knights bowing in respect as your husband comes to greet you.

“She’s been skimming off of the charity accounts,” you declare, holding out the datapad for Kylo to take before he can so much as say hello. “Her and all her fucking friends on Valdera. Mila’s fiancé is going to essentially paying off my uncle’s debts with money he and Chairwoman Evan stole from the Palgoduan donations and a couple of lesser projects in the Outer Rim. Millions of fucking credits, Kylo! Millions! And that’s just recently!”

You don’t mean to shout, but rage is hot in your veins now. Kylo looks horrified and bewildered all at the same time, scrolling through the information you’ve given him quickly. Not two seconds later, the air seems to crackle all around you, lights flickering under the influence of Kylo’s powers.

“Is your uncle in on this?” he asks you, eyes dark and wild as he regards you. The Knights stand at attention now, waiting for orders, waiting to be sent off for an attack.

“No,” you scoff, waving your hand flippantly. “They’d be stupid to involve someone like him in this. This is inside shit, crime committed amongst a tight-knit group of intelligent people. I wasn’t even looking for something like this, my team found it when I had them doublecheck Tarlak’s accounts.”

“It’s a good thing you did,” Kylo says, trying to stay calm even though you know an outburst is bubbling up inside him. His fist is tight at his side, shoulders tense and taunt. And the energy in the room… You’re just grateful he isn’t angry at you.

Finally, your husband hands the datapad back.

“We’ll deal with this issue at once,” he declares, and the Knights are ready to follow him out of the room without so much as a cue, the lot of them already grabbing for weapons and tools of destruction.

“Kylo,” you cut, stepping into his path. “Kylo, my love, let’s talk about this first.”

“That bitch stole money from the Order,” he spits, murder in his eyes. “All of those credits are for food, and medicine, and schools—”

“I know that, my love,” you soothe, though a fresh wave of rage does sweep through your insides at the notion of one of your subjects going hungry so that Evan and her cronies can play another hand of cards. “But we have an opportunity to make a statement here. Gutting Evan in her quarters may be satisfying now, but why not put let everyone else see what happens when they try to steal from the Order? Why not show the galaxy that we’re in control, that no one can just get away with things like this?”

Kylo draws in a shaky breath.

“I will have the offenders arrested at once. They shall be executed on a live broadcast tomorrow afternoon.”

You nod at that, satisfied with the statement. Still, you know your husband well.

“Well,” you begin, smoothing down the front of his shirt, pulling a few pieces of hair out of his face, “I never said all of them had to be executed publicly— just the important ones.”

Kylo’s hands come to rest on your hips, his grip tight on your body. Feigning innocence, you begin caressing his cheek in lazy, slow strokes.

“I also think it would be wise if we got a few of the main players to confess. You know, just so no one thinks we’re making this up. I’m sure you and the Knights could handle that, right, darling?”

[bayoubashsims]

Naturally

Naturally is a short story about the life of a Dutch-American woman who settled in Indonesia during the early days of its independence, the legacy she carried across the ocean, and the legacy she built in her new homeland. The story reflects on the most poignant events in her long and candid life; from the circumstances that made her birth possible, her childhood in the tumultuous early twentieth century, her new life in a new nation, to the troubles of her offspring, the return to her birthplace, and her dying days. These vignettes of Eleanor Mangkoedimedjo’s life serve as a testament that much of what we are we owe to those who came before us (whether good or bad), particularly our mothers and the mothers before them, and understanding our past often means understanding our future.

Name: Eleanor Mirabelle Mangkoedimedjo Maiden Name: Schuyler Other name(s): Laila Mulyati Place and Date of Birth: Batavia, New York, August 11, 1928 Parents: Lucas T. Schuyler (Adam Sutansyah) and Ana L. Schuyler (née Lahaije); Rosminah Sutansyah Grandparents: Pieter Lahaije and Johanna Lahaije (née van der Maas); Thomas E. Schuyler and Eleanor C. Schuyler (née Thompson) Sibling(s): Coralea Schuyler and Miriam van de Plaas Spouse(s): R. Prabowo H.L. Mangkoedimedjo Children: Matilda E. Willem and Philomena K. Develsbourne

Prologue

Maastricht, the Netherlands  1932

Gerrit Beuling was a tall, thin man with a long swan’s neck and a protruding Adam’s apple. His long, auburn hair went to his shoulders, and was combed back. He trudged along the brick road in that humid summer with a wooden case under his right arm, and he carried with him a manner of expectation.

He stopped when he came to a narrow alley with a stone staircase that led to a wooden door to its left. He cautiously made his way through, up and in, passing by one grimy corridor after another. He arrived half panting at a room at the end of the corridor, covered with faded ruby-colored floral wallpaper and adorned with fine furniture. He placed his case down and took off his coat. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and took a deep breath.

“I don’t understand why you’re wearing a coat like that in such a hot day.” Said Madame Lahaije. She was perched upon a crimson chaise-lounge by the window in a severely outdated, purple buttoned up dress that seemed to betray her own words to the young painter.

“For presentation, of course. And I put a lot of my things inside my coat pockets.”

Madame Lahaije sneered. “A gentleman never puts things inside his pocket. Unless it’s money, of course.”

“Are you ready, Madame?” He asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be. Do you think this dress is fine?” She asked, adjusting the stiff collar of her dress.

“It’s beautiful. But what a dress to wear in such a weather.” He answered. He was happy with the ironic echo.

“For presentation.” She replied, reassuringly. “Let us adjourn to the other room, shall we?”

She rose up slowly from her seat and walked to the other room as if Gerrit wasn’t even behind her. The other room was a brightly lit, white-paneled alcove at the side of the building that faces the garden, and beyond the horizon lies the countryside. She then proceeded to sit upon a blue, velveteen chair and pointed Gerrit where to sit. Gerrit opened his case, and laid out a set of watercolor paint on a table next to a wooden easel. He placed a canvas upon it and looked at his subject.

“Am I good enough?” She asked.  “Of course.”

Madame Lahaije looked at the boy sitting across her.

‘So young’, she said to herself.

She carefully combed a few strands of loose hair from her teased grey crown and adjusted her collar.

There were a few minutes of silence.  

“Eh-hem.” The lady cleared her throat to break the awkwardness. “Getting impatient are we, Madame?” Asked Gerrit. “No. I understand this will not be fast work.”  “Are you sure you’re comfortable in that dress?” Her eyebrows went up and her eyes squinted.  “Would you rather I take it off?”  Gerrit bit his lips.  “My apologies.”

“You know,” she uttered, her face building up to a slight smile “the last time a man said that to me was my husband, asking me about my wedding dress on our wedding day over 50 years ago. We didn’t have a conventional wedding, you know. My family had disowned me for running off with a man twenty years my senior, and he didn’t have any family left, so it was a few friends and the servants. I remember the dress was white and was very tight. I hated being in it but I looked good in it. Pieter said to me 'Johanna, are you sure you’re comfortable in that dress?’, because he heard me gasping whilst my bridesmaids were closing up my corset. He must’ve thought I was choking or something. It was a humid day, much like this.”

Gerrit’s eyes didn’t turn from the canvas.  “You must’ve looked beautiful.”  “It was a hundred years ago.”  “Oh, I don’t know. You’re still beautiful now.”  Madame Lahaije was not one to take compliments or responded to them, but enjoyed them altogether.

“Don’t you have a girl, Gerrit? How old are you now, 27?”  “28 this October. And no. I don’t have that much interest in courting girls.” “Do you like the boys, then?” She asked mockingly. Gerrit made no response.

“My daughter must be around your age now. I wonder if she’s married.”

“Don’t you keep in touch with her?”

“She hates me so. She lives in America. Ran away 5 years ago.”

“Why does she hate you?”

“Ah, who knows, schaadt. Us mothers do what instincts tell us to. At the end of the day, it’s still a stab in the dark to assume whether or not our children like us. At one point, they will hate you.”

She continued. “I know it’s a terrible thing to say, but she was an accident. I didn’t plan on having kids with Pieter, but then we did. And not long after she was born, he died, which is when I started the business. I made deals with a few men in some places. I took in homeless girls and groomed them. Of course, I am no Saint for turning them into prostitutes. But at least it provided food at the table for them and a roof over their heads and mine, ja?”

“I suppose.”

There was more silence. Madame Lahaije scratched her right eyebrow half-unsure, wondering if the painter will find it annoying that she’s moving around, but there was no response from him. She looked as stiff as a sculpture, like a purple tulip turned upside down, frozen in winter. She was in her mid-seventies then but retained the outline she had in her youth—a dark and well-pronounced outline that emphasized her bones and her heavily-lidded eyes. In her youth, she was a great beauty, though she never thought of herself that way.

Eventually she asked Gerrit ‘normal’ questions—of the weather, of recent happenings in town, and of the interesting stories that happened in her brothel, for instance, the girls who became pregnant would be sent to the abortionist, and those who choose to have the baby will be sent away. She also told him of men who trespassed the boundaries in treating the girls and how often she had to march into the bedrooms and pull them out by any of their parts and kicking them out to the streets. Gerrit nodded and gave some short responses. Madame Lahaije simply went on and on. It was just the way she talked.

“But I do miss Ana sometimes, you know.” Madame Lahaije uttered, wilting a bit. She was talking about the bad economy a few seconds ago. “How can I help it? She came out of my mangy twat and she’s the only family I have.”

“Such are the ties in blood.” Gerrit said.

Madame Lahaije turned back to concrete. “I was turned away by my own mother, left at the backdoor of an orphanage like a grocery delivery.” She said coldly. “The family that took me in, the van der Maas bunch, was more than kind. But I rebelled. I ran away with the painter and never saw them again. I was disowned. So what? I’ve been disowned the minute I crawled out of my mother. I couldn’t stand being locked up in the house.”

“But,” She added. “thanks to the education that they provided, I turned into the woman I am today. I am no idiot like the tarts I employ, who can strut but everything they hear on the right come out of their left. I keep a close eye on my accounts and I know of a great deal about literature, economy, and politics. So I am grateful, I suppose. If I weren’t a lady I’d have gone to war.”

Gerrit smiled.

“My adopted father was a timber businessman. The mother did nothing but groom her daughters, which included me, into fine ladies every single day from the minute she wakes. The brother was, oh, a handsome gentleman. He followed in his father’s footsteps. He died, however, a good six years before I fled. Of cholera.”

Her head was straight and poised, with her eyebrows way up on her forehead.  “He was my first love.” She uttered, and continued. “Mother van der Maas was a strict woman, unlike her husband, who was very much at ease. She was the only sort of mother I ever had, and I was 9 when they adopted me. My need for a mother had rotted years before I met her. Such a shame, no? Nevertheless, I pleased her need for a daughter. Her real daughters, Maria and Nelia, were skittish little things. Very fragile. And so Mother van der Maas took a preference for me. Can’t imagine how she felt when I left them. Mustn’t be like what I felt when Ana left. I remember, I caught Ana leaving with a suitcase in one hand, down by the foyer. I say to her, ‘Must be so easy to leave all this behind’. Well, I thought it, but I did not say it. I simply acted as…a figure of authority, if you must, to this young girl, whom I knew I will never see again or hear from again. She said nothing and left hurriedly. “

There was a silence for a few moments.

"Ah, well.” She shrugged.  “I guess I was never meant to be a mother.”

Gerrit smiled.

There was a silence for a few moments.

Gerrit suddenly rose up.  “I think that’s enough for today. I’ll continue again tomorrow.”

Madame Lahaije was somehow a bit surprised at this but felt settled.  “Fine.”

He draped a white cloth over the canvas and packed his things into the case.

“Same time tomorrow, then?” “Yes.” Answered Gerrit.

Gerrit approached Madame Lahaije, and gave her his hand. Not for a handshake, but for a kiss on her hand. She let him. The kiss was swift, and almost felt like a knife.

“Thank you, Gerrit.”

Gerrit smiled and walked away.

There, in the silence, Madame Lahaije looked out from the window, to the meadow just beyond the house a few miles away.

“What are you thinking?”

---------------------------------------------

The Past 

Batavia, New York - Bandung, the Dutch East Indies 1924-1945

The best thing she did was pretending that she wasn’t hurt.

Eleanor had always been a woman with such pride and stubbornness; even when she was a little girl, her mother Ana would chide her for sassing back. Her poor old mother didn’t want to be harsh on her, because her own mother was draconic to her. Ana had three children, but Eleanor, the youngest, stopped becoming her child and became her daughter when she was just six.

Oh, how Eleanor reminded her so much of her own mother. Even when Eleanor was named after her paternal grandmother, her temperament was quite similar to her maternal grandmother, a proprietress of a Maastricht brothel that Ana had abandoned out of spite at the turn of the century.

Before we go to Eleanor, we must learn of the stock that she came from; Ana was born Ana Louisa Lahaije to Pieter Lahaije and Johanna Lahaije (née van der Maas)

Just twenty-one years old back then in 1924, Ana sailed for six days from Hoek van Holland to the shores of America on a migrant ship. As far as she was concerned, she never had a mother, only a cold, leering phantom that she used to see at the other end of a dinner table. It was the prostitutes that worked in her brothel that became Ana’s mothers: Fleurtje was a great cook, Trienke taught her how to sew, Lotte gave great advice, and Madeleine sang songs with her. Johanna Lahaije only did three things for her throughout her life: she gave birth to Ana, she criticized her, and she let her leave. Johanna had caught her leaving with a suitcase at dawn and said nothing. She stood atop the staircase with her claws on the balustrade and she stood by as her daughter, like a deer caught in headlights, fled for the so-called Land of Opportunities. Of course, it was easy to assume that Johanna never loved her. Who knows, right? People tell you ‘I love you’ in different ways.

She had settled in New York and was married into a rather affluent Boer family, the Schuylers. She had married their youngest child, Lucas Schuyler. Her in-laws were the personification of Great White Hunters, who were ‘adventurers’, so to speak, along with their business ventures that took them around the world, while Lucas helped his mother at home and studied architecture in Cornell. Ana became a seamstress and found clientele in the sprawling metropolis, and gave birth to three daughters: Coralea, Miriam, and Eleanor. The Great Depression struck and though they did not suffer too much, the marriage between Lucas and Ana had cracked beyond repair from arguments regarding money to the spoiling of the children.

Lucas, envious of his father and brother’s adventures, decided to leave for the Dutch East Indies, having heard of the nation’s struggles for independence from the colonials that Lucas descended from. Ana refused to go, of course, since she did not drag herself all the way from Europe just to sail to some godforsaken land at the edge of the world. Much to her chagrin, Eleanor went along with her father. She enjoyed hearing the tales she used to hear about her grandfather and uncle, and she wanted to be an adventurer herself. They said goodbye and little Nortje was none the wiser. To the end of her days, she had always been her father’s child.

Eleanor was so proud of herself and her father. She had heard about the Emerald of the Equator from her father, a land so rich and green—filled with opportunities much heartier than the selfish aspirations of America—and thought of her future and the nation’s. One would think that a New York gal would be used to the urban ways, but even her days on her grandparents’ farm was nothing compared to the years she spent in this new land, and she fit right in with all the things other ‘expatriates’ couldn’t stand. They changed their names, too, and their religion. They settled in Bandung and became Muslims, thus Lucas and Eleanor Schuyler became Adam Sutansyah and Laila Mulyati. Mama Ana was not there to reprimand her for sassing, but instead it was Ibu Rosminah, a Sundanese lady so delicate and earthly one would think she was a fairy of the forests. When wartime came and the whites fled, Laila’s family stayed in support of the nation’s independence. The family did not approve of this. She didn’t care. Laila Mulyati did not care.

---------------------------------------------

Bandung and Kuningan, Indonesia 1945

Laila met her husband, Raden Bei Prabowo Mangkoedimedjo, in Bandung. Bowo was a neighbor’s pen pal and of gentry birth, and he was instantly head over heels with the dark-eyed Laila, as if a personification of the girl in Panon Hideung herself. They married just as Indonesia gained independence and had twin girls in the following year. Laila was just eighteen when she had babies and it was not easy. Motherhood was something foreign to her and she had to learn it by herself. As nice as Ibu Ros was to her, her volatile relationship with her biological mother was enough to leave her incapacitated when it came to motherhood (mothering, on the other hand, is a different matter altogether). Still, she tried her best. She really did.

---------------------------------------------

Kuningan, Indonesia - Boca Raton, Florida 1975

Philomena had graduated from college. Her twin sister Matilda did not stick with her as planned and decided to settle and breed with her high school sweetheart. Philomena did not have the patience to be an egg-brooding hen. She had expressed to her friends that she wanted to leave as soon as possible, especially from her Moes’ smothering. She had chosen to study Sociology at the University of Indonesia and stayed at a boarding house there. That never stopped her mother from dropping in from time to time all the way from Kuningan. She allowed Moes to smother as she pleased because she wouldn’t have to use her own money to buy food when she’s visiting, but it is quite exhausting to allow yourself to be smothered for years and years. Moes overheard this exchange (being the devil incarnate) and the next morning, she told Philomena she is to stay with her Aunt Coralea in Florida for a year.

Philomena was stunned, of course, and before she knew it she was in her aunt’s little condo in Boca Raton. The stay did not prove futile, as she became engaged to Southern aristocracy in the two years she was there. They had two wedding ceremonies; one in the US and one in Indonesia. Moes had a dance class to teach (she taught traditional dancing to the young ladies of Paterosari), so she did not see Philomena off on her day of departure. She hugged Moes goodbye at the door and left. Philomena was none the wiser.

Would you feel hurt telling your child goodbye as she became your daughter?

---------------------------------------------

Batavia, New York 1988

Ana’s three daughters came back to New York. Ana had experienced a series of illnesses and was bedridden, so of course they had to settle the estate. When their father left for Indonesia, their paternal grandparents ‘adopted’ their mother and left her the land. The land had been divided and sold throughout the years, and by that time, it was just a small but beautiful piece of land that had been the last home of Ana Schuyler. Her daughters were no longer little girls then. Coralea never married and became a landlady in Florida, so she knew the details of the estate business better than her sisters. Miriam knew next to nothing, having jumped from relationship to relationship and marriage to marriage, hoping that she’d at least get some of her mother’s jewels. Her husbands had always been Dutch men, and Ana refused to visit her in the Netherlands.

And then there’s Laila. She had grown so much from that little girl she saw leaving on a ship with a flowery hat. Still Ana chided her for her sassing even when Laila had two children and four grandchildren by that time, but the years had mellowed them to the point of the interaction becoming in jest. In Laila’s eyes, Ana saw herself, and for the first time, Ana understood her.

She came home as Eleanor. She thought it was the least she could do. She had such pride, that woman.

---------------------------------------------

Kuningan, Indonesia 2012

Matilda had died then, of emphysema and lung cancer. Her husband Hugo had disappeared years ago with no explanations, which sent her spiraling to instability. They had four children, and even their children were affected by Matilda’s thunderous descent. She had manic depression, apparently, and Moes remembered she saw the patterns in her own family—the aggression, the moodiness, the pitfalls of depression. It was harder for her to see her daughter suffering than to see her dying, though both practically ripped her apart. Still, she did not show it. Everyone was amazed at her strength.

By the time she was a widow, she had been many things and seen many things. She was involved with revolutionary women’s groups in the past and had joined efforts with other women to fight for the women’s cause in her town—and she understood her privilege as a descendant of colonials. In wartime, she volunteered as a nurse and eventually became one of the most senior members of the Indonesian Red Cross. She hinted, at one time, that she was a spy for the Indonesian rebels, and she defended her medical station from the Dutch with guns blazing. Of course, nobody ever found out if those things were true, but it made interesting conversation in her dance and exercise classes, knitting classes, and bird watching group.

Philomena had buried a husband and divorced two husbands by that time, and she had nothing left to stay on. She had been married long enough to her archeologist first husband to see the world. She had performed in nightclubs, cabarets, and theatres from Las Vegas to Paris. She had discovered a type of lizard in Brazil that was named after her, she had lived through the frigid winds of Siberia eating only dried food, and she even visited the elephant matriarch that killed her Grandfather Thomas in Tanzania. She had a trunk full of pictures, two trunks of knick-knacks, and a lifetime of memories to bring home when she decided to move back to the little town of Paterosari in Kuningan.

For forty years or so, she never stepped foot into her home country. Moes never allowed her, you see. It was always ‘I’ll come over to Atlanta to see you’ or anywhere else Philomena was staying in the US. Philomena never understood why. She never really understood why she was sent off to live with Aunt Lea back then and why, for forty years or so, she was not allowed to return home. As far as she was concerned, she wasn’t a communist connection forbidden to enter Indonesia because of the New Order’s restrictions (though her mother was probably closer to that), so why isn’t she allowed to come home?

It was 2012, and as she walked through the front garden of her house in Kuningan, laden with ferns and devil’s ivy, she decided that this was her last stop. It was as if she had always been there all this time. It was as if she were there just yesterday. Moes greeted her as any mother would, and soon began her readjustment from her worldly past life to her current, more provincial condition. Could it be that Moes was afraid that if her daughter returned home, she would never want to leave again? That she would stick by her dear old mother just to please her? That she would give up her exciting life in the great world beyond for the guilt she felt over leaving Moes?

Philomena never knew, not even when Moes died many years later. She did believe, strongly, that all this time she had been on the longest leash. She and her sister Matilda were her mother’s first and only children. As much as she struggled with motherhood, Moes was fiercely devoted to her children. A lot of this was lost in translation, Philomena supposed, which is why she wanted to leave. Perhaps Moes felt that she did not want Philomena to stick by for her sake. She did not want Philomena staying with her while dreaming of another life, while wondering what could be or what could have been.

Perhaps Moes loved her too much for that, so she allowed herself to be ripped apart for her flesh and blood to be happy. She did live that life, so she did not wonder about what could be or what could have been because she had been, and now it’s over. Philomena thought of how unlucky it is that children cannot choose their parents and how most of the time, it is parents that choose to have children. In retrospect, she was quite thankful.

---------------------------------------------

The Future

She would remember, as she lay dying many years later, that she had many names. Eleanor, Nor, Nortje, Laila, Ibu Mangkoedimedjo, Oma, and Moes. All her life she had been known by these different names, and different people called her these different names in different situations. She had learned the pain of having dragged one’s ass from one place to another and the cognitive dissonance of having several names. She was no stranger to ambiguity and ambivalence. She reassured herself, in the silence of her cold bedroom, that it was never anyone’s fault. The broken hearts, the damaged consequences, and the wounded egos—all of them are inevitable in any sort of relationship.

The children were born into this world and they were never theirs to keep. Soon they will build dream after dream, and some dreams are ruined by their parents, parents that they did not choose. Is it their fault? Of course. As adults, they are obliged to be responsible for their actions. Anyone who says otherwise is a goddamn idiot. But then again, there are many ways to say ‘I love you’, and a lot of these things could easily be lost in translation. Does it matter, then, whose fault it was at that point?

At some point, the little eggs must leave the nest, and at that point, they were no longer eggs. What restrains someone from running towards their loved ones who are about to depart as they wave from an airport gate, a train station, behind the fence of an ivy-laced garden, or a wooden door? What difference would that make? Would that keep them at your side for another day? For what purpose?

It is rather difficult to think how hard it was for one to uproot oneself to another place, only for your offspring to come back to the place that was left behind. After all that hard work? What difference would it make?

Well, at one point, one must’ve breathed a sigh that could not be helped. As the world turns and turns you long for it to stop, for you to sit comfortably in your chair without the hours robbing you of your loved ones. You ask whether or not generation upon generation of guilt, of pain, of hurt, of joy, of laughter, and of love was worth all that trouble all your life.

At least she had lived her life then, and most importantly, at least she had come home.

[esoanem]

VIII.

“I didn’t want to believe you could be capable of doing something like that. But I couldn’t convince myself that you weren’t“

Major Content Notes:

None!

Wikipedia Synopsis:

The hunt for the Urca de Lima begins when Silver divulges the schedule to Flint, taking them to the ship's location. Rackham stops paying Ms. Mapleton, which causes her to threaten to blackmail Rackham. She threatens to tell the locals what really happened to Mr. Noonan. Meanwhile, Vane makes his way back to New Providence with his new crew. Eleanor's situation changes when a small band of men take over Hornigold's fort and start sinking supply ships in the bay. Gates threatens to call off the attack of the Ranger, so Flint kills him. The final scenes of the season show that the Walrus has beached itself upon the same isle as the Urca de Lima.

This is the final episode of the season so quite a lot goes down, but for the first time I don’t think we’ve needed any major content notes. There is some blood & gore, and nudity at various points, but nothing especially graphic

Summary:

Rackham is docking Mrs Mapleton’s pay because of her skimming. She threatens to tell all the merchants that he murdered Mr Noonan, saying that they’ll band together and see Jack hanged for it. Jack calls this insubordination and fires her. As she reiterates her threat, Max arrives, and points out that the merchants are all enjoying steep discounts (affordable now the books are in order) right now and that because of that, they won’t much care what Mapleton has to say

At sea there is a terrible storm, with the Walrus and Ranger climbing waves as tall as their masts. Belowdecks, as the crew play music and card games, Dr Howell has made a peg leg for Randall and is trying to get Silver to convince him to wear it, saying that a crutch is too big a risk in this weather. Randall is reluctant. Silver tries to convince him by sarcastically pointing out how he’s helped Randall in the past, before throwing the peg leg to him, but Randall just tosses it to the floor and goes back to eating his apple

“Oh, Mr Silver, how can I ever thank you? First you save me from ending up as a stain on the Walrus’s underside, then you secured my position on the crew on the verge of an historic haul, and if that weren’t enough, you’re still trying to find something comfortable to put at the end of my stump. From the bottom of my heart, thank you“

Two crewmen come down from the deck saying that a launch from the Ranger has arrived with Captain Gates. Logan wonders “what could be so fucking important that he has to row through all that shit out there for it”. Silver hears this and hurries to Flint’s cabin

He sits down, and Flint pushes an inkwell over to him saying they’ll make landfall in the morning and need the last part of the schedule. Flint compares what Silver writes out to a book of his own reconnaissance, of bays and inlets in the right area that could reasonably be used for the Urca to take on water. Flint tells Silver to take the information to de Groot and set a course for Division Bay. As Gates says he better get back to the Ranger, Flint says it’d be better not to tempt fate and pulls a bottle up

“Talbot Rhodes’ private stock. I’d been waiting for an occasion. My reckoning is, tomorrow we’ll be able to afford a lot more of it or -”

“- we’ll be too dead to care”

Mr Scott comes into Eleanor’s office to tell her that Captain Lawrence is almost ready to leave. She is worried by the storm, calling it a ship-killer and wondering if God is on Mr Scott’s side in opposing this plan. Mr Scott reassures her, saying that the trouble might have happened anyway, with or without the schedule

“Tomorrow, a thing that you conceived out of thin air becomes real. A thing that will give this place a chance to find some small measure of peace. That is not nothing”

Back on the Walrus, Gates & Flint are finishing the bottle, and reminiscing about the man who found it, Mr Cregg, the carpenter’s mate who could sniff out booze on a prize ship like a bloodhound. Flint tells a story of one time he found a bottle hidden behind a baseboard on a prize and, thinking it was the captain’s best booze he took a big swig in front of everyone, only to realise it was piss.  Gates is trying to seem friendly, but in cutaways he seems melancholy, mourning his lost friendship with Flint, whilst Flint seems to be acting as if nothing has happened between them. Gates remembers that he brought Cregg over with him, having both served under Avery together as kids, before getting up to leave, a tear in his eye

"For years, he went on how he’d got this huge stash hidden away, and I should live to survive him because one day, I will be a rich man. As you know, we lost him on the Pembroke. 

So I open his locker and what do I find? 

Twelve pesos, a busted pocket watch, and a letter with instructions to deliver it to his sister in New York.

Lying sack of shit was Mr Cregg!

So I bought the boys a round with the pesos, traded the pocket watch for a bit of tail, and spent two weeks that winter in New York, trying to deliver that fucking letter to his sister. Looked high and low, never found her. So on the way home, I waited until we were in open water and I could see no land in any direction and I dropped it over the side. Return to the sea. 

There are no legacies in this life, are there? No monuments, no history. Just the water. It pays us, and then it claims us, swallows us whole as if we’d never been here at all”

Anne bursts in on Jack whilst he’s taking a bath. She yells at Jack for cutting Mapleton loose without telling her, saying she could tell the entire island about them killing Noonan. She then says the fact he’s keeping council with Max is bothering her even more, and accuses Jack of fucking her

"Jesus H Christ I can’t win with you. She’s in the camp with the men and it’s ‘come on Jack, let’s go kill everyone see if we can’t get around there, hope you don’t mind, made that decision on your behalf’ and now she’s out making us a small fortune by the way and you’re pissed off about that too, might you consider making up your fucking mind about her, please!”

After telling him to fuck himself she leaves, and sees Max standing by a mirror naked, drying her hair. Anne looks bashful, and hurries downstairs as Max turns around and puts on a dressing gown smiling

Vane arrives at Nassau with a few rowing boats full of the men from the lumber camp. They row past a series of lobster pots before beaching the boats and stepping ashore

The Walrus & Ranger are sailing along the coast flying Spanish colours, Division Bay is just past the next headland. Flint gives a brief speech to the crew, before ordering full sails for their final approach

“Llisten here! When we clear the point ahead and spot the Urca at anchor, we’ll begin our final run at her. The Spanish banner may earn us a few hundred yards of confusion before the captain identifies us and opens fire so we’ll close fast on her, hammer her well with our guns, and then take the fight to her decks. That fight will be the fight of our lives make no mistake. But on the other side lies paradise!”

As they round the point though, there is no ship to be seen. The entire crew, including Flint are dumbfounded, and after asking de Groot if he’s sure of their position, Flint storms into his cabin leaving the crew bemused on deck

Eleanor meets Naft, Frasier, & Lawrence at the end of the pier, where she hands Lawrence two manifests, one true, one false, and a substantial purse and wallet for bribery. Lawrence is impatient and wants to leave. As Eleanor comes off the pier she is met by Hornigold & Scott. She tells them that she still needs to remove her father entirely, that she knows he’s on the Underhill estate scheming to undo everything they’ve done. Hornigold reacts in disbelief

“You’re truly amazing, in the moment when stability is at hand and the world is at your feet, your first instinct is to go out in search of someone new to fight”

Scott asks for a moment with her but is interrupted by cannonfire, the shot landing near Hornigold’s ship. After a couple more shots, they realise the cannons being fired are from the fort. Hornigold realises someone other than his men must be in the fort and, as we see a mast break Scott says they need to get off the beach. As they march towards the tavern, Jack comes out of the brothel to ask what’s going on, when he’s told that someone’s taken over the fort he looks over at Anne who swallows anxiously

Gates comes aboard the Walrus and is led to Flint by Dufresne who tells them that the crew have agreed to Flint’s plan. They will land the Walrus and then he has two days to send out scouts to find the Urca. Flint gives the order and heads into his cabin. Dufresne tells Gates that de Groot is bitter that they didn’t listen to him about the cook, that he says there’s no Urca out here, that justice has been delayed long enough, he wants Flint tried immediately, and he believes that for all his talk Gates is just protecting Flint

“I’m protecting all of us! These men are right on the edge, and he wants to rile them up more by talking about a lying thieving captain, then stand on a deserted beach and talk about elections? Before you know it, half a dozen men will have laid claim to the captaincy, council will divide. it won’t be dark yet before the fighting starts

We’ve got to see Flint pay for his crimes, but we’ll do it at home, and we’ll do it like civilised men and that’s how we avoid the abyss!”

Dufresne asks how they can trust Gates, as they know the two of them spent the last night together drinking. Gates hands him a letter asking if it’s good enough, which Dufresne reads and seems surprised by

Sails are spotted, a Spanish man-o-war, and it will be on them in half an hour. Flint signals the Ranger to raise the black and fire two shots off the Walrus’s bow, as well as rigging a spring to the foreward anchor and dropping her immediately. Below you can see, the main anchor cable connected to the bow of the ship running straight up, with a second line, the (slightly slack) spring tied onto this and connected to the stern. By tightening the spring, he can pull the stern out to windward, and turn the ship without moving

De Groot is astounded that Flint means to fight the man-o-war, but Gates shouts to the crew that they have their orders before dragging Flint into his cabin. Dufresne and de Groot share their concerns

"If he engages that ship in battle, we’re dead!”

"I know”

"I know you know, but does Mr Gates?”

Gates tells Flint he can’t let him go down this road. Flint ignores this and explains his plan to Gates, the man-o-war will see them as a Spanish merchantman under attack by pirates, the Spaniard will pass them by to give chase and, before she realises her error they’ll turn and have her trapped, the Walrus raking her stern to bow, and the Ranger raking her bow to stern, and that the warship shows that the Urca is here after all

"all I see is an empty bay, a gardacosta warship, and a captain that’s lost his fucking grip on reality!”

Flint says that the ship isn’t a gardacosta (coastguard) here on patrol, that the only explanation for it being here at this time is that it’s an escort. Gates points out that the entire justification for the venture was that the Urca would have no escort. Flint suggests that they changed their plans, at which point Gates says he’s leaving with the Ranger, leaving Flint dumbstruck in disbelief. They hash it out, furious at each other

“What did you just say?”

“I’m going to weigh anchor, I’m going to make a run for it, and if I can keep ahead of her before dark there’s just a chance we could slip away”

"Without the ranger, I have no chance against that ship”

"I know”

"So you’re deliberately challenging my authority here? Deliberately violating you duty?”

"My duty? My duty is to them, not to you! Although I have violated it more times than I can remember in your defence. Helped you deceive good men, who put their trust in me because I was convinced they would be better off for it! But not here! Not this! This is fucking madness!”

"Mr Gates, if you walk through that door with the intent of subverting my plans, I will have no alternative but to interpret that as an incitement of mutiny”

"You think I’m inciting mutiny?

"You are inciting mutiny!”

"I’m managing one! There are men out there right now that know about Singleton, the book, the cook, all of it! They know! And they mean to see you hang for it!”

Flint goes quiet, asking if Gates told them

"After Billy, I just, I didn’t want to believe you could be capable of doing something like that. But I couldn’t convince myself that you weren’t. That’s when I realised that this has got to end.”

"So what then? You preside over a trial that sees me hanged?”

“No. I’m going to go home. And I’m going to see you and Mrs Barlow secreted away before anybody knows you’re gone. You’re going to go to Boston. You’re going to take the pardon that she’s offered you and that is the last that you and I will ever see of each other”

Flint looks ashamed, and downcast, and begs Gates not to do this. Gates tells him to take a moment, that he’ll deal with the crew, and goes to leave. Flint looks up, and stares intently at the back of Gates’ head, his lip quivering into a snarl

He starts up, slams Gates into the door, and chokes him from behind, repeating “this is not what I wanted, I’m sorry” before snapping Gates’ neck. He repeats “I’m sorry” as his snarl softens and he starts crying, cradling the body of the closest thing he had to a friend

The door creaks open, Flint’s face immediately hardens again and he draws his pistol. It is Silver, saying he came to back Flint up in his case that the Urca can still be won. Flint drops his arm, looking exhausted. Silver comes in and hurriedly closes the door behind him, locking it, before checking Gates’ neck for anything incriminating. Flint bats his hands away, asking “what the fuck are you doing to him” before telling Silver to stop. Flint is utterly defeated, but Silver tells him there is still a way out

"There’s no way out of this”

"Take it from me. There’s always a way”

A letter is delivered to Hornigold and the rest of the consortium, saying that a small band on men were seen approaching the fort from the west that morning, but no-one could identify them, and all the local crews are accounted for. Mr Scott asks if the fort’s great guns could be repositioned to aim at the street. Hornigold’s only response is that he hopes whoever it is won’t be mad enough to consider that and proposes to retake the fort when he is interrupted by Vane & his men on the street outside demanding to speak to Eleanor

Flint steps out of his cabin and, looking Dufresne straight in the eyes tells him that Mr Gates’ heart gave out. He gives orders to signal the Ranger with the plan, telling Mr Thompson he’s in charge, to sail North and, when the Walrus fires on the target, to tack hard to port and join them. Dufresne barges past de Groot into the cabin. As he looks down at Gates’ body, Silver starts speaking

“The question you need to ask yourself is what good can I do. 

You can call this murder, a number of the men might even believe you, but will that be enough to stop this fight that is about to happen? 

Because if it’s not, a fight we might win becomes a battle we are doomed to lose because the men went into it infected with your suspicions, with your doubts.

 So, Mr Quartermaster, is that truly what’s in their best interests?”

Dufresne steps out and walks straight past de Groot again, over to Flint.

"When the warship draws close, she’ll ask our last port of call. Saint Augustine is the closest and as she’s likely a customs ship, we must identify our cargo as anything but tobacco; Seville regulates the trade heavily”

Vane is Eleanor’s office, his boots up on her desk, rolling a cigar as she comes in, and sweeps his feet off asking what the fuck he did

"Spend enough time on an island, you begin to forget there’s a whole world out there. A world where the rules are different” he puts his feet back up and goes back to rolling his cigar “I went out there and found men who don’t know the rules here and who don’t much care to learn them. They helped me surprise Captain Hornigold’s men, we took his fort, and not once were any of them burdened with the though ‘what if this were to upset Eleanor Guthrie’”

He threatens to keep sinking ships, and maybe even sink the Walrus when she comes back with the Spanish gold, just out of spite. He says that because the fort controls the bay, Hornigold was her partner when he controlled the fort and so now, he should get to be her partner. He says being a tenant didn’t work out so well, and now he’d like a stake

He then describes the first time he saw her, when she was thirteen, and sneaking out despite Mr Scott’s rules. He says that despite her age she walked between the camps like she owned the place, completely fearless. He then suggests that all she really wants is to not have any men bossing her around, and that he has no intention of telling her what to do as long as he gets what he wants. She begrudgingly agrees, but promises that she will drive him out once he inevitably gets comfortable

“I know you. Better than your father, better than Scott, maybe better than anyone. You don’t give a shit about money, or respect, or the things you’ve built here. I think you’re just tired of fathers telling you what to do and so I’m offering you a life free from them. With me in that fort, you do as you like as long as it doesn’t cross me you’ll hear no complaints”

"You know I have no choice but to say yes. But before I do, know this: you’ll sit in that fort for a while, you’ll get comfortable, and that’s the day I’m going to push you and your men right into the fucking sea”

As Vane saunters out, he dismissively nods at Hornigold, calling him “Ben”. Eleanor tells him that Vane now has his seat on the consortium. She tells Hornigold that it’s no use him trying to take the fort, because she told Vane about the tunnels he’d have used to launch a surprise attack. She defends this as acting in everyone’s best interests and Hornigold leaves, promising that this won’t be the end of this

“You told me to keep emotion from clouding judgement, to act in everyone’s best interest. I believe that’s what I’m doing”

Vane enters the brothel and is met by a nervous Jack. He says that in some ways it had to come to this: him deciding if Jack lives or dies. We see Mapleton standing behind Vane’s men. Vane confronts him about killing Hamund and his men, and we see Jack speechless, and Anne wearing a frightened expression for pretty much the first time

“Hamund brings you out of bed, marches you down to the wrecks to look for a stash of stolen pearls and somehow only you and your dog make it back alive?”

“Quite a moment. Jack Rackham with nothing to say. Had I a shrewd quartermaster right now, he would tell me that I can’t let what you did stand, he would say that an offence like that demanded an example be made of both of you, the bloodier the better, but today I’m a little less worried about perception than I used to be. As long as I own that fort, it doesn’t really matter, so the street will know what you did, they will know that you betrayed your brothers for a woman. That story will spread far and wide, and you’ll never sail beneath the black again. You’ll sit in this place and rot with the rest of the whores. Something tells me that will sting worse than dying”

The man-o-war comes alongside the Walrus, and Silver shouts across, with Flint behind the rail next to him feeding him lines. He says that they were attacked by pirates, that their last port of call was Saint Augustine, and that they are carrying tobacco. De Groot questions Dufresne about this

"If I’m not mistaken, you told him to state us as anything but a tobacco trader did you not?”

"II did. He means to prove that ship is not gardacosta, that it’s here for the same reason we are. If that ship lets us pass, he will have both renewed the men’s lust for gold and their faith in his judgement”

“Time and again he gambles with our lives, that is when he’s not taking them in cold blood and once more his influence grows. We’re at his mercy with no way to challenge him”

The Spanish ship sails on and Flint orders all hands to quietly go to their stations, and to fire at 300 yards. The Walrus starts pulling on its spring line to bring the stern out slowly, so the Spanish ship thinks they’re just drifting. At 100 yards, he orders the gunports opened and sights down a gun saying “we only get one shot at this. If we miss, we die”

Just after 200 yards Dufresne pulls his pistol on Flint, accusing him of piratical crimes against his crew, that he murdered Singleton, Billy, & Gates, and that he planned to steal a portion of the treasure fleet for himself. Flint gives the order to fire, but the crew do not. Belowdecks, de Groot is taking Silver into the Surgeon’s cabin. Dufresne hands the letter to Logan saying it is a confession from Mr Gates of his knowledge of & complicity in Flint’s crimes, and Logan confirms that it is written in Gates’ hand

Flint continues to repeat the order to fire growing frustrated at the crew’s inaction, shouting that they’re going to lose the enemy and don’t have time for this. Eventually he strides down and grabs one of the slow matches used to fire the cannons and goes to light the touchhole firing the cannons, but is shot in the shoulder by Dufresne

Silver wrestles with de Groot, but is knocked to the ground. As de Groot readies his pistol, he is knocked out by Randall who has hit him on the head from behind with the peg leg. Flint is pressed against the side by a gunport watching the Spanish ship slip away when one of the Walrus’ cannons fires, taking him, and the entire crew by surprise. Silver looks out at them, saying that it had to be done. Flint tells Dufresne to fight

“There’s no running now. Fire, Mr Dufresne. Everything you’ve got. Don’t waste this moment”

Dufresne hesitates, and the Spaniard’s sternchasers fire, hitting the Walrus. At this, Dufresne and Flint both start shouting orders to hire, and the crew slip into battle. Both the Walrus and Ranger get some volleys in, scoring several hits and causing a small explosion and fire onboard the man-o-war

The man-o-war comes about, her gunports open, and she fires. The Spanish broadside tears into the Walrus sending yard arms crashing down, and gun carriages flying. We see the Ranger’s magazine explode, and more and more holes be shot into the Walrus. As Silver tries to help an injured man, crying out for the doctor, Flint is knocked into the water. Seeing people and debris continue to be sent flying from the Walrus, he stops treading water and allows himself to be dragged under by the weight of his clothes and equipment

Eleanor is on the bridge between the tavern and brothel and Max comes out to meet her halfway. Eleanor starts to apologise to Max, but she tells her not to, saying she was “standing between you and your dreams for this place, you did what you had to do” and Eleanor reminds her of her words, that Nassau is just sand and cannot love her back but Max pushes back

"Sand has its virtues. On sand nothing is fixed. Nothing is permanent. Fates change so quickly. 

Yesterday Captain Hornigold was immovable from that fort and Captain Vane was a beggar, now look at them today. 

Yesterday I was a whore of little consequence, easily dismissed, easily forgotten, today I am a madam with an income and allies, and a woman who has learned the most important of lessons, never let anyone stand between you and your ambitions. Thank you for teaching it to me”

Vane sits in the fort as we see Lawrence push off, Hornigold’s damaged ship still in the bay, and Hornigold and Scott look on. Eleanor watches in the shallows, teary-eyed over what her ambitions have lost her

Flint wakes up on a beach, topless, a bit of cloth pressed to his wound as a dressing. He sits up and we see Dufresne, Silver, several other pirates, and the Walrus next to them on the beach with several holes clean through her hull. Flint asks why he’s still alive and Dufresne tells him to get up. As Dufresne leads them over the island they’re wrecked on, Silver says he was certain about his information regarding the Urca

“Unfortunately, you & I failed to take into account the weather. The Urca de Lima wrecked at sea last night. Dashed by the storm”

As we peek over the brow of the hill and see the Urca broken in two on another beach, the Spanish sailors unloading her onto the beach with the man-o-war at anchor in the bay, Flint seems to regain his resolve

[butididntpourthewhiskeys]

50 Things I’m Convinced Tay & Joe Do - Baby Edition 

1. Taylor smirking at Joe who claims that the air in the doctor’s room is dry which is the reason why his eyes are watering right after they found out that they’re having a girl. 

 2. Joe’s protective hand constantly reaching for her belly at night whenever she’s changing her sleeping position. 

3. Joe opening his Christmas gift from her that was casually placed under the Christmas tree and him becoming incredibly emotional in front of both of their families because inside the little box, there is a positive pregnancy test. 

4. Taylor and Joe only telling their families and closest friends about her pregnancy at first because Taylor’s too scared to miscarry. 

5. Joe replacing all Nespresso capsules in their houses with decaf capsules because he knows how hard it is for her to waive proper coffee. 

6. Taylor developing a weird disgust towards roasted meat yet always attends dinner at Joe’s family and eats the Sunday roast even if most of it lands in the toilet just minutes after they get home. 

7. Joe always telling Tay that his mum won’t be mad if she’d tell her about her meat related nausea but Taylor still swallows the food anyway. 

8. Joe being overprotective, especially on these days when she’s not feeling well and he’s gone for work. So as soon as she doesn’t pick up her phone for a couple of minutes, he’d immediately call Andrea who then has to calm him down with a soft laugh and a gentle “both of your girls are alright, honey. She’s watching TV with me and her phone’s in the kitchen, so don’t worry.” while Taylor would roll her eyes at his protective behavior but deep down knows how incredibly thankful she is for it. 

 9. Scott always teasing Joe with referring to him as “Daddy over there wants some more potatoes, Andrea” or greeting Joe with “Hi Daddy, how’s it going?” whenever they see each other. 

10. Taylor trying to convince him that their daughter needs to have an old classic and British name such as “Hazel” or “Eleanor” and Joe reminding her that she’s giving birth to a baby, not an old lady. 

11. Taylor feeling incredibly maternal at the end of the second trimester and most of the time falling asleep with a pull string musical crib toy on her belly that plays one of her songs (a gift from her fans, of course). 

12. Joe spending at least half an hour cuddled up to her belly and talking to the baby after not having seen Taylor for a couple of days, always kissing the round belly and telling her how sad he is sometimes because Taylor gets to carry the baby around and feel her all day, but he can’t. 

13. Taylor and Joe constantly fighting about her wanting to wear heels tonight, and him getting angry because she could trip and fall. 

14. Taylor being mad at him for an entire day because she thinks that he thinks that she’s too stupid to walk on high heels for the length of one evening. 

 15. Joe figuring out that the only way to deal with her current hormones is to always give in and let her know how sorry he is and how right she was. 

16. Joe constantly finding her asleep at the weirdest places in the house. Once on a stool with head on the kitchen isle, once on the floor in her walk- in closet. 

17. Taylor feeling like a teenager again because she finds herself crying so often whenever he’s gone filming for a couple of days and she misses him badly. 

 18. Taylor being mocked by everyone in her family because she developed the habit to “free the bump” whenever she’s sitting on the patio and a ray of sunshine is crossing the sky. “The baby needs Vitamine D, guys. Shut up.” she’d say, enjoying the warmth on her belly.

19. Joe volunteering in applying cream on her belly to prevent stretch marks every night. 

 20. Taylor having an increased need for sex in the first months and Joe teasing her with it as much as he can, smirking and mumbling a casual “got it out of your system, love? If yes could you please move a bit so I can watch the rest of this movie? Thank you.” after she just came down from the fifth orgasm that day, sitting on his lap and distracting him from watching a movie on the couch in the living room. 

21. “So rude.” she’d mumble and receive a mischievous laugh from him before cuddling up in his arms again. 

22. Joe’s standard joke being “I mean, I was in the room when the baby was conceived to I might as well be in the room when the baby’s delivered” whenever he’s asked wether he’ll be in the delivery room or not and Taylor rolling her eyes every single time, “He thinks he’s so funny, it’s incredible.” 

23. Joe having the shock of his life when Taylor fainted a couple of times during the first weeks of pregnancy because of low blood pressure, which is absolutely normal yet scared the shit out of him. 

24. Joe literally calling her every two hours to remind her to drink water and eat something when she’s at a meeting because he knows that she forgets. 

 25. Joe literally going nuts after some online magazine releases an article calling Taylor “huge and lazy” because she apparently doesn’t work out enough during pregnancy which results in him wanting to sue the media outlet but Taylor calming him down because she doesn’t give a fuck about this kind of stuff anymore. 

26. Taylor feeling her baby kick for the first time when they’re at dinner with her parents and Joe really trying not to be too emotional and become a cry- baby but keeping his hand on her belly for what feels like the entire evening. 

27. Taylor craving nachos with whip cream on top. 

28. Taylor sitting on the examination couch while waiting for her doctor, trying her best to bat Joe’s hands away from the model of a fetus in a womb: “Stop touching it. You’ll break it!” When the small plastic baby pops out of the fake uterus and onto the floor, Joe’s eyes grow wide and she just rolls her eyes while watching him hysterically trying to put the model back together again before the doctor enters the room. 

29. Joe thanking her for carrying his baby and giving him his own little family whenever they both lay awake at night, but the pleasure is all hers. 

30. Taylor hiding her big bump and boobs under oversized sweaters because she’s insecure about her physical changes. 

31. Joe being well aware of her insecurities which makes him comment things like “you’re so stunning, baby. Is that shirt new?” or “you look gorgeous this morning, how’d you sleep?”. 

32. Joe noticing how motherly Taylor has become because of all the hormones in her body. So every time Patrick is joining them on a winter walk she’d remind the boy to fix his scarf because „it’s colder than you think“ and every time Patrick has a cold she’d cook him a chicken soup, even If he didn’t ask for it which is why Joe and him can’t help but tease her constantly by calling her ‚mummy‘. 

33. Taylor being embarrassed as hell for an entire week because her morning sickness was really bad while she and Joe were stuck in traffic and she had to throw up in a plastic bag after mumbling “I don’t want it to happen, I don’t want it to happen” while sitting next to him which resulted in her having vomit in her hair while crying and him calming her with a hand on her leg: “s’ fine, baby. C'mon. Just glad you feel better now.” 

34. Joe’s mum bursting out to tears as she opens her birthday present and finds an ultrasound scan, which automatically makes Tay emotional as well while hugging his mum for more than five minutes straight. 

35. Taylor often having trouble sleeping because she either struggles with immense nausea or her baby being super active. 

37. Joe waking up one night with tears in his eyes because in his dreams he was holding his baby in his arms and he could see what she looks like and smell her and hear her laugh and everything felt so real, which was the most amazing feeling he has ever felt. 

38. Joe noticing how Taylor craves his closeness even more since she’s pregnant which is why he pulls her into a long hug as often as he can or kisses her forehead more often. 

 39. Taylor showing literally everyone she knows her new “trick” that is placing objects on her huge belly like a tray. 

40. Joe counting all ten toes and all ten fingers on the baby, first thing: “just want to make sure you’ll be able to write some songs. Or make action movies..“ he’d mumble towards the baby, making Taylor laugh from afar. 

 41. Baby Alwyn- Swift having all of Taylor’s features, blonde curls included, but Joe’s lips and his rather introvert personality. 

 42. Joe holding the baby in front of Taylor’s tummy and mumbling a sleepy “we’ll have to put you back in there again if you don’t sleep, love. m’ warning you. The nights were a lot quieter with you in there.” which makes Taylor laugh and the baby stare at him confused before receiving a laugh and a small kiss from her dad. 

43. Taylor announcing the birth of her baby on Instagram with posting a black and white photo of Joe kissing tiny baby feet and the caption “Never felt so blessed in my life. Thanks for all the congratulations and kind messages.” 

44. Joe pretending to eat the baby’s foot or hand which always makes the little one laugh and Taylor as well. 

45. Taylor posting a boomerang on Instagram for fathers day that shows Joe blowing raspberries on the baby’s stomach with a smile on his face and captioning it with “you have changed my heart forever. Happy Father’s Day.” 

46. Joe already spoiling his little girl when she’s just a little toddler and Taylor really not liking it: “He can’t say no. Never. Now she’s just a baby but if he keeps that up our child will be a spoilt rat in a few years” she’d complain to her mom. 

47. Joe surprising Taylor with a vacation to the Bahamas because the baby hasn’t been sleeping at all in weeks and they both wander around like ghosts all day long which is why they both urgently need some relaxation away from London and Nashville.

48. Joe realizing that his baby daughter has a miniature version of his lips which is why he always holds her tiny face right next to his for comparison when they’re with friends and family. 

49. Joe giving the newborn on his arm a tour around their house when both of their parents came over for a first visit at home. He’d stop with her on his arms in the bedroom and mumble “..and this is where you were made, my love” which results in her family’s laughter and an embarrassed Taylor yelling “oh my god, Joseph. You are unbelievable.” 

50. Joe teaching his little girl how to give kisses and always claps his hands to cheer on her whenever her lips made the right move to meet his. After some time, the baby girl loves to give her daddy wet kisses and afterwards automatically claps her little hands as well which makes Joe and Taylor burst out in laughter every time.

[vmohlere]

More Infinite Coffee Q&A

@musings-on-bucky-barnes​ had some more questions from last year’s Q&A, and after AGES of procrastination on my part, here’s the first set of answers. Also on Ao3.

·         When does Pepper teach Bucky to wink?

 I have no idea! That’s not one of the little details that my brain bothered to supply.

 Or perhaps he saw her do it (to himself or someone else) and decided to copy it.

 Very possible! Barnes definitely watches Pepper closely, because he considers her a reliable source for acceptable social cues.

 ·         Reactions of the Tower residents and other friends when Bucky recovers enough to start grinning and winking? (We know that Natasha said it makes him look epically hot!)

 Pretty much the universal reaction to being grinned at by Barnes for the first time is being stunned and maybe a little turned on. Barnes doesn’t bring out the flirting that often – most often with the Olds and the folks at the Lucky Carp, because of his comfort levels – but Barton and Sam flirt with him pretty shamelessly, trying to get him to smile. Hill has been known to save up a particularly juicy smart comment so she can make it in front of him. And Tony would deny it forever, but once Barnes laughs softly at something during arm maintenance, he ramps the Tony Show up to 13 to try to make Barnes laugh again.

 And also what about flirting at and with Steve? Lucky Steve would get the full force of it when they’re together.

 Prior to Upgrade: Advanced Happiness Skills, Barnes only flirts with Steve when it’ll cause maximum embarrassment and/or make Steve drop something heavy onto his own foot.

 ·         The reactions of the others to Steve and Bucky being together? We get to see the main Avengers and the Olds react, but not Pepper, Maria, Bruce, Katie, Peggy and the Carp clan.

 Hill yells at them for ruining No-Touch Valentine’s Day, but come on – you know she’s delighted. Especially since their timing meant that neither Barton nor Tony won the betting pool for how long it would take. (Pepper won, because she picked the date Nat told her to).

 The others might complain that the bet is then null and void because Nat had insider information ;)

 Who would dare complain (to her face)?

 Mr. Hayashi blinks at them for a minute, until Kazue fusses at him for being old-fashioned.

 How does he then react?

 Oh, he’s fine, just momentarily surprised.

 Katie cries with happiness, and Steve’s a sympathy crier, so that’s a very damp conversation.

 Bruce notices. Eventually. (Nah, I kid – all the Tower residents saw this coming miles and miles away.)

 So that means that they are good at keeping their poker faces, as Bucky says in Advanced Happiness Skills that none of them (apart from Nat) noticed and that they appeared to be morons. (Which could mean that HE was so happy and distracted that he was actually the unobservant moron!)

 Correct.

 Sadly, I’m not sure that the Peggy in this world would be mentally together enough to hold onto the news. But her objective was always that Steve be safe and happy.

  ·         Steve and Peggy’s relationship - how it was affected in the period after Bucky’s ‘death’?

 I don’t have anything for this. Just thinking about it makes me so sad, though.

It is ironic that Bucky remembers more about Steve’s sex life than his own, like Steve & Peggy in the room in Lyon. Poor Bucky…

 Oof, his own sex life has a lot of stuff he didn’t want to remember, so he walled off all of it.

 Steve’s reactions to knowing that Bucky loved him and was jealous of Peggy

 Capt. Compartmentalization took that knowledge and tucked it very far back in his mind, bringing it back only when he wanted to torture himself by feeling guilty about it.

                 Will Steve and Bucky discuss Steve’s feelings/guilt about how he felt he let Bucky down during WW II?

 Oh, sure. They live for a very long time, and eventually, they talk all of it through.

  ·         Other Tower residents & Olds after Bucky has been shot

 Widespread frantic worry. There’s a phone tree for updates. Barton remembers to add the Hayashis to it.

 Steve’s reactions to wounded Bucky’s ramblings – including the ‘you’re my favorite person’ comment

 Well, you know, Buck was just as high as a kite there, couldn’t be held responsible for anything he was saying, and there definitely was no teeny tiny little part of Steve that had been in love with Bucky Barnes since he was 15 years old that was 100% thrilled.

 ·         Does Bucky ever run into Tyler and Dale again? Or they recognize him on TV when the media realize Bucky is alive/helping the Avengers?

 Oh man, I don’t know. I have thought about The Dale & Tyler Question a number of times, and I haven’t ever been able to decide what the funniest option is.

 ·         Bucky’s next birthday – will he be recovered enough for a big birthday party of his own?

 No, but I’ve just decided this minute that they rent out the Carp for the evening and have all the mission-assists for dinner. Barnes has to sit with his back to the wall near the front door, but he loves it.

 ·         What made you decide to do Steve’s POV? It was the first look at Bucky from the outside in this series.

 That section rose up and demanded to be written and fell out all in one lump. The only thing I changed while revising was to rearrange it a little. I really loved writing Steve’s voice.

 ·         Tony’s reaction to someone apart from himself doing something risqué/scandalous (the skinny dipping)

 He hates it, of course! While secretly loving it. Incapable of having a straightforward emotion, that one.

 ·         Solo trips to the Carp by other Avengers

 Oh, sure. They’re very good for that place’s bottom line. And Nat visits the Olds on her own.

 ·         It seems that Ollie’s honey Wayne died not long before Ollie encountered Bucky for the first time. How did the Olds all meet? Did they know Wayne?

 That must be so, given the way I mentioned things, but the timing wasn’t deliberate. Esther and Lidia had both lived in the building for several years, moving in when it was a much less dire place, and neither could afford to leave once it started getting bad. They were “nodding neighbors” until O’Reilly bought the place and started using it for nefarious purposes, and then they clung together for safety. Ollie moved in because it was what he could afford. They took one look at how sad he was and adopted him.

 Eventually, all three of them move to California, because the NYC winters get to be too much for their joints, and Ollie’s family is so happy to have him more active in their lives, and they don’t want to be separated. Barnes is NOT a fan of the plan, though it’s what ultimately makes him stubborn about learning to make air travel okay.

 That makes me sad and happy in equal measure. Tony would probably offer to do something whiz bang to the building’s heating, but a permanent move to warmer climes makes sense (and he and Pepper would make sure they got a great home). Hopefully Cat Eleanor likes her new home!

 Yeah, they are all really happy in California. Ollie’s family takes them all in with open arms.

 ·         Use of first names/surnames/nicknames and the importance of choice of which.

Like how you mentioned in a Tumblr post that you were very specific in Bucky’s use of Rogers, Steve and Stevie. And there is also how he only seems to prefer to let Steve say ‘Bucky’.

 Using a first name is a sign of intimacy for Barnes. Surnames keep people at arm’s length – or, in Hill’s case, are a sign of recognizing one as an equal.  His using “Steve” or “Stevie” means that it’s a moment of the programming losing power.

 And yes. Only Steve can call him “Bucky.” Only the Olds can call him “Jimmy.” He thinks of himself as “Barnes.”

 ·         How quickly did it take the Olds to realize that their mysterious new neighbor was Bucky Barnes?

 A couple of weeks.

 ·         Any more snippets of Cat Eleanor being her glorious cat self with the boys?

 Oh man, I wish I had one for you, but I don’t.

 They do eventually adopt their own cat, though, after the Olds move. His name is Jack, and he’s a hideous old grey thing with one eye. He and Barnes are devoted to one another. Jack tolerates Steve as a second-class roommate.

 ·         In ‘This You Protect’, you mention that Barnes is somewhat of a prude when Steve trolls him by singing rude and yucky songs. Is that a feature of old Bucky or new Barnes or both?

 Barnes

 Bucky thought all those songs were hilarious.

 ·         Recently you gave an intriguing one line summary about your original novel – please repeat that and tell us a bit about the genre, what stage it is up to, why you decided to write it.

 oh jeez.

 Did I say it was about a lady and her six werewolf boyfriends? I’m working on my query letter now, and I don’t know whether it’s urban fantasy—with—romance or paranormal romance, because marketing labels are a mystery unto me, but it’s full of jokes and people being dumb about their own emotions and baked goods. It’s definitely a coffeeshop AU, plus lots of boning.

 It’s not high art, but I had a ton of fun writing it.

 Honestly, I wrote it because I got mad at a bad fic (non-MCU) and decided I could do better. I will NOT link the fic.

 ·         Tell us the story behind your choice of that Battle of the Planets art for your icon.

 HA! I loved that cartoon when I was a kid. But mostly that picture just makes me laugh every time I look at it – it’s so cheesy. There’s something about the pose and the facial expression that I find hilarious, and I’ve used it for long enough now that it would be weird to change it.

 xXx

[theplantwitch]

BLACK SPARROW

Note: This was the final piece I’ve written for my English Literature Creative Writing seminar. I love the idea of the world I’ve been creating, so I am thinking about turning it into a novel. This is “only” 1,650 words long (exactly, because that was the maximum (1,500 +/- 15%, lol), I’m living on the edge). English is not my first language but if you’re willing to read it, I’d adore you. Of course, this is not a 100% realistic representation of The Fae and rituals but I liked writing it this way, nonetheless. Please enjoy!

The winter had come to rest on the land like bread crumbs dipped in honey; gently and deliciously awaited. Although a harsh wind had settled in by this time of year, it seemed to bring nothing but joy to the villagers’ hearts.

From where Momo stood on the narrow mountain ledge, she could overlook the small town unfurling underneath her feet on the ground below with ease; the wide, airy woods behind her back. Each and every roof of the modest houses was so very intimately covered in fair snow that they appeared to be bathed in silky morning mist. In all honesty, she could not seem to distinguish the difference at all, even if she squinted her eyes. Tender smoke rose from the dark coloured cottages which, for that reason, looked compellingly out of place in the middle of all this paleness. If she lowered her basket filled with goods and put forth one of her freezing hands even, she thought she could tickle those drowsy blankets of ice off the dreaming leaves hidden below and reveal the soothing greenery she had been longing to see. Green bushes, green weeds, green moss – all of which smiled blissfully in their beds.

Momo could not remember what had come to pass before she had ended up here three full moons ago, yet she felt as though her soul had always mourned for this place cloaked away from reality. And just as the cottages stood out from underneath the snow as a young raven among house sparrows, she too appeared to be a stranger to this world – though solely to the innocent eye. Come Beltane, no one would stop to consider her a black bird any longer.

“What are you up to, girl?”

Veles’s sharp voice tore through the bewitching silence in the mountains and startled her. The scare had her shivering even more so than before. Trembling, she buried her dead-straight nose deeper in the hazel coloured scarf Eleanor had thoughtfully knitted for her sake.

“Why d’you always appear out of nowhere?” she heard herself whistle into the caressing wind. By then, it was of no surprise to her anymore, however. The black cat seemed to trail her like her own long shadow recently which, at present, looked as though curled up in the wood’s black mouth. The day was becoming tired and even the large pine trees breathed calmly.

Crunch, crunch. Veles eyed her sceptically as he tiptoed through the ankle deep snow; shaking off the excess water drops as he went. The ever so strict town cat suddenly appeared to be as ordinary as an adorable house cat. ‘What a sight for sore eyes,’ thought the girl. Not even Veles’s lecturing words could alter his appearance once you got to know his curious quirks.

“That is my job, I am afraid. Now tell me at once.”

Momo exhaled lazily and watched her breath float towards the crisp cobalt winter sky. “I’m thinking about making an offering to the Fae.”

“The Fae! Of all beings …” scoffed the cat.

“Don’t look at me like that! I know what I’m doing.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

“I get it,” she spat out through her teeth, the cold in her bones yet forgotten. Furious, she avoided every daring glance shot in her direction. “You don’t think of me as capable. I wanna please them. I was helpful in the past, wasn’t I?”

“We have not tried it in a long time …” she heard Veles muse with a pensive tone in his dark voice. It was only then that she realised that he looked almost as foreign to this land as she did.

The girl paused and waited for Veles to continue speaking; the basket in her hand feeling heavier by the minute. As he refused to finish his sentence, she turned on her heels and entered the forest without a second thought, though she knew that the cat would still be following her.  

Upon having set foot into the woods for mere seconds, she could already sense the all-encompassing and soothing essence of the wise and sheltering trees reaching out to talk in whispering voices. It was a quiet world up here; far more reticent than she could have imagined. No birds sang in the treetops, no wind howled through skinny branches.

The snow filtered out all those chilly noises from the outside. Here, the Fae Folk lay and rested until Winter said his goodbyes.

“What have you brought them?” Veles demanded to know before eyeing her intently, though with a voice rich of curiosity. Without even so much as a glance at him, she held out her basket; fully aware that he would not be able to look at the contents within.

“Some dried thyme weaved into a crown, a small jar of elderberry liqueur and a bell,” she replied proudly; admiring the squeaking sound of the fresh snow beneath her feet as they walked. Veles, as always these days, seemed to be mostly engaged with getting as little of the melting ice on his fur as possible.

“Then I am glad I followed you,” he squeaked out in a peculiar way; still seemingly distracted, although keeping his tone firm. “I would refrain from using the bell in their presence.”

“Why? I thought they like it,” huffed Momo in mild surprise. It was a nice one: golden and shiny with a soft leather band attached. If the noble midday sun hit it just about right, the delicate object twinkled in a thousand foreign colours.

“Oh, they indeed enjoy a well-made bell; however, they prefer chiming their own.”

“I see,” agreed the girl and fell silent for only a few heartbeats. Wearing her long, golden locks pinned up so that they might not inconvenience her throughout her urgent undertaking, she picked out a lonesome but fragile twig that the swiftly emerging wind had exhaled into her updo. Warily, she gazed from tree to tree but could not catch a spying eye. “I brought a wood whistle as well. But it’s mine.”

The black cat laughed heartily. “Do not worry. Play it and they will appreciate it all the same.”

Momo did not quite know where exactly the Fae resided in these deep, calm woods, though her former experience had taught her to trust her instincts more than anything. Something in her would unquestionably guide them towards the residence. The cat did not seem to be even remotely bothered about the circumstances either. Truly, you could not help but surrender when enclosed by the consoling aura of this nurturing forest. No wonder the Fae had decided to call this their home. ‘Or was it the other way around?’ she wondered.

“Veles, can I ask you something?” The sound of her voice wafted unusually heavy in the air this time but was soon carried away by a tender breeze.

“Please do so.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’m going to mess it up?” As she spoke, Momo did not spend a second looking at the cat next to her. She knew the answer to her question anyhow. He loved the enjoyment of adventure she provided him with. Would he have deemed it to be gravely dangerous, he would not have engaged in this affair so very easily indeed. “They’re a truly deceptive folk I’ve heard,” she finished her thought.

“Oh, they are tricksters of the worst kind,” he remarked somewhat too delightful for her tastes. Because the ground deep within the forest had inhaled most of the snow already, Veles appeared to be in a much brighter mood. “But I believe you are by no means unprepared. I am with you. You do not ask for anything in return – you only offer.”

Just as he had finished his sentence, the forest opened up before them and revealed a grand clearing, which appeared to be not far from a welcoming gesture. And where her gaze fell there was nothing but snow and silvery drops of ice dangling from the bare branches of undressed trees like pearly jewellery on a muse’s wrist. How gracious this place must look like clothed in vibrant Beltane blossoms!

“I hope you do not mind …” declared the cat pompously as he sat down on the cold ground and began to groom himself; a genuine amusing sight to behold under such circumstances. But it also meant that he genuinely trusted her.

Momo looked ahead warily and took some careful steps forward. Right in the middle of the clearing rose an old but impressive elder tree from the crystal ground. Although its branches were bare-skinned, it could not appear any nobler to the eyes of the beholder. On slow feet, Momo approached the great elder dignified; the snow beneath her feet holding its breath in suspense. There, she got on her knees and pulled out her carefully packed offerings. First, she opened the jar of elderberry liqueur and set it in front of the majestic trunk, and then the wreath found its place embracing the cordial in its belly. It was not much, she supposed, but it was sincere.

“I thank you, oh gracious Fae Folk, for your guidance throughout the year. I hereby return Nature what she entrusted us with,” she spoke softly but clearly; eyes closed and fingers intertwined in a praying gesture.

Then she gingerly got up to sit back against the base of the tree and got out her whistle in expectant silence. The snow was so blindingly white that, from where she was sitting, she could not even spot the black cat still waiting at the entrance of the clearing. Nevertheless, there was neither reluctance nor unease in her veins. Just like the cat had melted into these now so very familiar surroundings – so had she. And as Momo raised the whistle to her mouth and drew a first breath, the wind greeted her with sweet laughter.

[the-paris-of-people]

That Cute Couple You See at a Coffee Shop

SURPRISE! (Or not?) I’m your @tgpsecretsanta @alys07! I hope you enjoy this Cheleanor Cinderella Story/College AU I wrote for you! You can read it on AO3 or down in the cut below! 

P.S. special thanks to @chidi-anagonye for editing! <3 

Summary: What happens when Chidi and Eleanor begin messaging each other online, with no idea of who the other really is? 

Words: 5555

I got my latte with almond milk this morning, pinged Chidi’s penpal. A special shoutout to you, bud.

A grin slipped onto Chidi’s lips. He was in the middle of class, his seminar about Middle Eastern civilization, but still he typed back,

I’m jealous. But! at least you’re able to enjoy it without any of my agony and guilt.

Did you just make a joke? She wrote back. Look at you! I’m impressed. Character development.

You taught me well.

“Chidi!” Tahani hissed, catching Chidi in the middle of his lovestruck look at his computer. “Chidi!” She cried again, tapping his desk with her manicured index finger.

“Huh? What?”

“Look, I know you are quite infatuated with this mystery girl, but can you please pay attention for one moment so we can meet with our group project partners?”

“Right! Sorry!” Chidi cleared his throat. As he whipped out his notes from his backpack, Tahani squinted at Chidi’s iMessage. Blushing furiously, Chidi clicked the ‘X’ at the corner of the window. The last thing Tahani needed to see were his ramblings from last night, after he told his mystery friend that he wished they were a couple he had seen at the coffeehouse, studying together, staring into each other’s eyes. He then panicked because he realized how desperate he sounded. To cover for his semi-flirty messages, he typed out a long explanation, spanning paragraphs, but it didn’t work. He was bad at lying, and the worst part was, he wasn’t even drunk. He was just that awkward.

“Ugh,” Tahani sighed, flopping down in the seat next to him dramatically. “Chidi, you obviously like this girl. It’s been three months. Are you ever going to tell her how you feel?”

“First of all,” Chidi shut his laptop. “You should not be reading my messages! Also, no. It wouldn’t be right to disclose my feelings if she doesn’t have all of the information she can possibly can have about me. And! I don’t know if she has a boyfriend, or girlfriend, or if she’s romantically interested in any gender at all! It would be ethically unsound for me to dump that burden on her. And since finals are approaching, and it might distract her, too!”

“I mean that’s technically true, but still-“

“Alright!”  interrupted Eleanor, the de facto leader of their project team, barreling in from the doorway. “Let’s get to work!”

Perfect timing, Chidi thought, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Did you just get to class?” he inquired, eyeing the coffee cup still in hand and scarf around her neck. It didn’t surprise him, Eleanor always came late, but still, it floored Chidi how she strolled in with unabashed confidence. Chidi shriveled away when he arrived even one minute late, how could Eleanor muster the guts to come forty five minutes after class began?

“Long line at Michael’s,” Eleanor explained, setting her cup down and pulling her messy notes onto the desk. As Chidi learned from their midterm presentation, Eleanor wasn’t the best student, but she was the best at organizing their projects of the four of them. Unlike Chidi, she didn’t waver on which details to include and unlike Tahani, she wasn’t concerned with how to woo the teacher for self-validation. And unlike Jason, she actually had… a brain, so she could contribute sometimes.

(To be honest, Chidi didn’t know how Jason got into college at all. Not that he minded having him there, he always offered free snacks at their group meetings, but he wasn’t... the sharpest tool in the shed)

“By the way, I saw Jason nuzzling with Janet by the windows,” Eleanor mentioned. “ So I guess they’re not coming either.”

“Wait, Jason and Janet together?” Tahani asked, flabbergasted. Tahani wasn’t the only one surprised. Jason was a great guy but Janet wasn’t exactly... his type. She was pretty, funny, president of the student body and the Scholars Club. On top of that, she knew everything. He wasn’t exaggerating. She literally knew everything. Sometimes his friend Simone joked she was secretly a robot.  “Since when have they been… dating?”

“I wouldn’t say they’ve been ‘dating’ if you know what I mean,” Eleanor snorted. She flipped through her stack of loose leaf paper and pulled out her project notes, clicking into her planning mode, “Alright, so we have five more days to put together our final presentation, and from what I remember from what we talked about on Tuesday, no one has any weekend finals, so I vote we get together Saturday and Sunday and just bang this shiz out, ya feel me?” Proud of her quick thinking, Eleanor laid back in her seat and propped her feet up on Jason’s vacant chair.

“Oh!” Tahani clucked. “I’m sorry Eleanor! But no can do!”

“I’m sorry?” Eleanor sat back up.

“What Tahani is trying to say is, the Scholars Club has a ball on Saturday of winter finals week,” Chidi filled her in, “And since Tahani and I are on the board, we’re busy planning until Saturday, and then on Sunday, we have to clean up and debrief, so it probably won’t be until Monday that we can work on the presentation.”

“Seriously?” Eleanor threw her head back and groaned.  “Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

“Well, we’ve been caught up with other finals, Scholars Club events, I’m part of the Plato society…”

“Oh my god, I get it, you ner-” Eleanor paused mid-sentence.

Chidi cocked his head at her. Was she about to say nerds? Huh. He felt like he had heard that phrase from somewhere, but he couldn’t place where…

“-naturally very busy overachievers,” Eleanor covered. She froze for a second before flapping her lips exasperatedly, folding up her notes and shoving them back into her backpack. “I guess we’ll just do it on Monday around my philosophy final, then.”

“I’m sorry, Eleanor,” Tahani patted her hand. “But I promise I’ll come by your dorm tonight to give you that face cream. It will make all your blemishes disappear!”

“Tahani, I never said-”

“Oh, I’m so excited to see your triple, Eleanor!” Tahani interrupted, clapping her hands together. “I bet it’s just so… quaint.”

She shot her one last grin before gathering all her books and striding away, her floral dress billowing behind her. Eleanor’s mouth dropped open at she watched Tahani exit, still wondering what just happened.

“Don’t worry,” Chidi told her. “She gave me face cream last week, too. You don’t need it.”

Eleanor’s eyes sparkled before she coughed and stood up, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. For some reason, Chidi found himself liking the way her eyes glimmered under the fluorescent lights, how the ends of her mouth softened, how her cheeks tinted pink. She looked pretty.

Calm down, Chidi, he scolded himself as he shook his head. One crush at a time.

***

I ate a quesadilla for lunch today, Chidi texted mystery girl later that day, at the library with Uzo. And now I have a giant stomach ache.

I’m sorry, philosophy cutie, she instantly replied. I wish you didn’t feel so sick all the time :(

The campus health center is open until 7. She added. Maybe you can make an appointment? She sent him a link to the online appointment maker.

I have to study for my psych final tomorrow, Chidi messaged. But thank you for checking for me. That was really nice of you.

Guess you’re not the only one with character development.  :)

Chidi chuckled to himself. He began crafting a witty response, clicking on the urban dictionary link he bookmarked to match her constant use of casual slang. He felt Uzo peering over his shoulder and turned around.

“Shrimp freak again?” Uzo lifted an eyebrow.

Chidi nodded.

Uzo, his childhood best friend, his roommate, his pseudo-brother, was one of the only people who knew the full story. Of how Chidi wrote under a pen name for the university’s online philosophy zine. Of how one day, “StoneColdSteveAustinfreak” had commented on his post, mocking his rigidity and suggesting he “lighten up.” Chidi responded politely, requesting that she directly contact him for her difference in perspective, and two days later, he received a message from shrimpfreak1014 over his newspaper gmail chat. At the time, he was refining his midterm paper for deontology, checking every now and again for messages. Somehow, he remained embroiled in an argument with her until three A.M.

She irritated Chidi to to end. She was argumentative, and she made fun of his nerdy habits, and her sense of humor was cruder than he liked. But at the same time, Chidi didn’t want to stop talking to her. She was sharp and witty and unlike anyone he’d ever met. She was selfish, but she was trying to be better. She was rude, but she apologized when she went too far. She coined herself as a moral particularist, yet she sometimes cited Kant in her arguments, emphasizing when she did just to tease him.

And soon, as their chats grew more and more frequent, they became closer. She messaged him during her work breaks, and he talked to her while he worked on his homework late at night, bags sagging under his eyes as he alternated between his essay about Plato to their discussion of Tim Scanlon. They were friends, advisors, maybe even confidantes, their conversations ranging from philosophy to their favorite coffeehouse on campus to their lives outside of university. She told him how she emancipated from her parents at fourteen, how she worked three jobs to pay off her student loans, how she decided to become a better person after a near-death experience getting her stomach pumped. He confided that his grandmother passed away last year and he missed her, he missed the snacks she used to send and the stews she used to serve. Since then, he told her, he had been more anxious than usual, the simplest of decisions causing his palms to sweat and his leg to bounce .

Listen, dude, how about this? She wrote. Since you’ve been my dorky mentor and you’ve helped me a better person and all the junk, why don’t I help you make decisions? I’m good at that stuff, anyway.

You would do that? He asked.

Yeah, man, I owe it to you! She insisted. The next time you freak out over a big decision just come to me.

And so he came to her each time he freaked out, faced with a choice between white or black, right or left, frozen mocha or coffee.

Just get the frozen mocha, she would reply, as if choosing was so easy. You don’t even like the taste of fair trade coffee at the cafe, so why not get something you enjoy?

You’re right, said Chidi, shocked at her ability to choose without qualms. And so they went on, Chidi as her philosophy mentor and shrimpfreak as his decision maker, and Chidi found himself aching for her messages. During the day, his mind began drifting to her: how perfectly she complemented Chidi, how since they started talking, he softened her and she strengthened him. He wonder about her in ways he shouldn’t, about how her eyes were probably bright and fearless, about if her mouth would curl after a quip, about how her skin would feel against his, cuddling in Chidi’s bed-

No, no, no. It was wrong. How could he have a crush on her when-

“Chidi?” Uzo waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him back to reality. “Chidi? Dude, are you freaking out about your crush on shrimp freak again?”

“A little,” Chidi squeaked. “Okay, well a lot,” He admitted. “I can’t handle this anymore, Uzo! I mean I’ve kept this from her for way too long, and I’m the one who’s always maintained a moral code of honesty! And if I do tell her how I feel, it could potentially destroy our relationship and all the progress she’s made! And who am I to destroy progress, Uzo? I don’t have that kind of authority!”

“Listen, you’ve got to calm down, man,” Uzo advised, while Chidi gasped for air. “Look, it seems like this is eating you alive inside…”

“Pretty much everything does!”

“Right, but it seems like you like her a lot, so… why don’t you put yourself out there? ” He punched Chidi lightly on the shoulder. “Ask her to the Scholars Club ball.”

“The Scholars Club ball?”

“The Scholars Club ball.” Uzo nodded. “Just so you have a shot at meeting in person. I mean, it’s been four months and you don’t even know her real name. You can just go as friends, too. No pressure. But this way, you don’t have to worry about her not knowing who you really are, and if you want, you can come clean and tell her about your feelings.”

“Huh. That’s not a bad idea, actually.” Chidi pondered, tilting his head. If they went to the Scholar’s Ball together, they could have a lot of fun. Shrimpfreak could meet Uzo and Tahani and Simone, and they could talk and laugh all through the night. And maybe, just maybe, (just a thought!) they could slow-dance together, too. He even knew how to sell it to her. There were tons of caterers and free cocktail shrimp. He’s sure she would like that.

But there were drawbacks, too, and Chidi had to consider those, too. Maybe he could make a pros and cons list. Or maybe he would use that Magic 8 Ball in the student union to make a decision for him.

“I’ll think about it,” he told Uzo.

“You’re going to stay up all night agonizing about whether to ask her, aren’t you?” Uzo anticipated.

“Yeah, pretty much!”

“I know you too well, buddy,” Uzo laughed.

***

“Eleanor!” Tahani sang outside her door. “I have your face cream!”

“Oh, no,” Eleanor muttered. “Here we go.”

She closed her laptop and ripped down her Stone Cold Steve Austin poster. Eleanor wasn’t sure if Chidi told her about their messages, but wasn’t taking any chances. She scanned her room for any other defining items that might give her away. Luckily, she wasn’t much of a decorator, unlike Becky, who littered her desk with pictures of cats, Spiderman figurines, and frog drawings by her cousin, Jeremy. Yeah, sure, the frog sketches were cute, but the Spiderman figurines? Come on, Becky!

“Hello, Eleanor!” Tahani greeted as Eleanor opened the door, waltzing right into her room without permission.

“Sure, come on in, Tahani. I definitely invited you.” Eleanor grumbled and flopped onto her bed.

“Here’s a bag with some face cream, and some other Korean skincare products I’d thought you might like to try!” Tahani perched herself on the edge of Eleanor’s bed. As she examined the rest of Eleanor’s dorm room, her face scrunched. “Why, this space is awfully… cramped…”

“Because it’s a dorm room,” Eleanor drawled sarcastically. “It’s small? It’s something normal college students usually live in?”

“I mean it’s nothing compared to the spacious single I have in the Scholar’s Club house, and it’s not as quaint as I thought, but I have to admit, it’s quite cute. Aside from the Spiderman figurines on that desk, which are creeping me out…”

“Right? Thank you!” Eleanor threw her hands up in the air emphatically. “I keep telling Becky to turn them to the side so we don’t have to see them!”

“Though I suppose they would creep out the people walking and looking at the dorm windows,” Tahani giggled.

“Haha! You’re right!” Eleanor snickered. “There’s no winning, is there?”

“Not unless you accidentally throw them in the garbage can!” Tahani joked.

“That’s the best idea you’ve ever had, babe!” Eleanor rolled over from laughing so hard. Tahani, who was keeling over with her laughter along with her, suddenly stopped, focusing on the left corner of Eleanor’s room.

Eleanor’s eyes widened. Oh no. She had completely forgotten that she left her work backpack on her desk. It was free of badges and patches and tacky Becky-like decorations… besides the small shrimp keychain on the zipper.

Shit.

“Say Eleanor,” Tahani spun back towards Eleanor. “Shrimp doesn’t happen to be your favorite food, does it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tahani,” Eleanor challenged, shooting Tahani her sharpest eyes. Tahani’s normally light demeanor darkened to match Eleanor’s venomous stare.

“Anyway,” Eleanor swung her legs around her bed and stood up. The faster she could shove Tahani out of the room, the better. “I think it’s time for you to go, Tahani,” She pushed Tahani back towards the door with her feeble muscles. Jeez, she was surprisingly strong. “Buh-bye! See you Monday!”

“Hang on just a second,” Tahani resisted Eleanor’s shove.“You don’t happen to have a poster of Stone Cold Steve Austin, do you?”

“Again,” Eleanor choked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tahani. See you later, okay buh-bye!”

“Oh, really?” Tahani smugly leaned against the doorframe, pointing to the back of the room. “Then why is that Stone Cold Steve Austin poster on the ground?”

Eleanor flicked her eyes back to the back of the room. Her Stone Cold Steve Austin poster was lying face-up. Fuck. She tore the poster down but she forgot to turn it over or hide it under the bed. Damn it, Eleanor!

“Okay, fine, you caught me!” Eleanor caved. She sighed and walked back to her bed. “I’m shrimpfreak1014.”

“Well, since I am very well-connected,” bragged Tahani, shutting the door and joining her on the bed. “I happen to know the identity of the lucky man you’ve been talking with-”

“Please,” Eleanor rolled her eyes. “ I know it’s Chidi. I sit behind him in class and he’s not super discrete about messaging on his laptop.”

“Oh,” Tahani shook herself out of her initial shock before agreeing, “That is true. But if you know who he is, and you both are very close, why don’t you tell him who you are?”  

Because it’s Chidi, she wanted to say. He’s intelligent and patient and kind and he genuinely cares about people. He cares about me. But I don’t even know if he cares about me me. Eleanor me.

And I couldn’t stand losing him if he didn’t.

“Because I don’t even know if he likes me,” she said instead. She avoided Tahani’s gaze as her eyes welled with tears, tucking the strands of hair behind her ears. God, she probably looked like an idiot, getting all soft talking about how much she liked him. “We always bicker while working on projects, and he always gives me a funny look whenever I say something ignorant, and I just… I don’t want him to change his mind if he knows who I really am…”

“Eleanor,” comforted Tahani, rubbing her back in circles. “I’ve known Chidi for a long time, and he doesn’t dislike anyone. Including you. And also…” Tahani hesitated  “You never know how someone will react if you tell them how you feel, so it never hurts to try. Like the time I told Daniel Radcliffe that…”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Eleanor cut her off. “I always get it. But…. Thanks, Tahani. I guess. Maybe. I’ll think about it.” She smiled up at her in between sniffles.

“No problem, friend,” Tahani gave her one last pat on the back before heading back to the door, this time, without Eleanor forcing her out. “Well, I better get going. I have to run a bunch of errands for the ball. But Eleanor,” Tahani lingered in the doorway, rocking back and forth on her feet. “If you ever want to get lunch or something…I’d be happy to put something in my calendar.”

“That would be great, Tahani,” accepted Eleanor, grinning. Sure, Tahani was a snob, and she name-dropped too much. She wore heels even though she didn’t need them, and she was too concerned with her popularity…but she also had a good heart. And she was kind of fun to be around. It was only fair that Eleanor gave her a chance.

“But only if we go to get burgers,” she added. “I’m not much of a fancy girl, and you could use some loosening up.”

“Well, I look forward to the grease.” Tahani bobbed her head, then double-checked, “Is grease something to look forward to?”

“You’ll see, babe,” Eleanor winked at her. “You’ll see.”

***

Chidi paced up and down the shiny, hardwood floor of the Scholars Club house kitchen. He had been at it for an hour and a half. Femi already came down to check if he was okay, and he had already scarfed down three bananas from the ornate ceramic fruit bowl Tahani had made for the kitchen. Okay, he was going to go over the possible outcomes one last time, then he was going to decide on what to do…

Hey, bud, his phone vibrated in his hand, disrupting his train of thought. Haven’t heard from you in awhile. Feeling alright?

Chidi trembled as he reread the message. He couldn’t keep up this charade any longer, otherwise he would just end up freezing her out. Yeah, that’s what normally ended up happening with his friends and ex-girlfriends he couldn’t break secrets to, but he didn’t want this to happen with her. He didn’t want to lose her; he wanted this, finally, to be the one that stuck.

You know what? His mind whipped into shape and settled, He was going to do it. If shrimpfreak had taught him anything, it was how to be more decisive. He yearned so badly to meet her, he yearned for nothing else, but he was letting the tossing and turning of his mind prevent him from going for what he desired.

Hey! He texted. Thanks for checking up on me. I was just thinking how to ask you something. So I’m part of the Scholars Club on campus and we’re having a ball on Saturday night. Do you want to go with me? Just as friends, of course. There’ll be free shrimp!

He held his breath while he waited for her response. Nothing.

He removed another banana from the fruit bowl. Maybe the overload of potassium could somehow carry him through the day.

***

It was only in his final class of the day, creating a study guide for philosophy of neuroscience alongside Simone, when he heard back from shrimpfreak1014:

Sorry man, I have work from 9-5 tomorrow and then I have to finish my group project. :(  

Oh, Chidi responded, swallowing his disappointment. I understand. Good luck with finals! If you end up having time, feel free to come by.  

Yeah, honestly, dude, I’m not really sure if I will. I don’t know if I’m ready to meet yet.

Chidi blinked, pushing down the sickening feeling slithering up his throat.

That’s okay, He reassured, although he was stewing in his own regret. We can just meet when we’re ready. There’s no rush, right?

No response.

Chidi heaved as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“You okay, Chidi?” Simone asked, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Yeah,” He somehow managed to lie through his heaving. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

This was why he couldn’t make decisions.

***

On the day of the ball, Chidi rose with dread.

He was surprised he could get up at all- his muscles fatigued from restless turning, his eyes strained from rereading old messages all night. Uzo calmed him down for a little bit in the morning, promising that shrimp freak just needed some time to process the idea of meeting him in person. Chidi told him he was probably right, but still, he checked his phone a couple more times to see if she had messaged back.

The rest of the day kept him distracted enough; he and the rest of the board met in the living room to begin ball preparations: wrapping carnations around the banisters, confirming arrival times of the caterers, transporting surprise gift bags to the gazebo. He felt normal, for the most part- until he overheard Simone and Vicky talking about their dates.

Chidi’s stomach boiled with agony. He didn’t know why he cared so much- he had been fine with not having a date, with not meeting his secret friend in the near future. Now he couldn’t get it out of his head, and he hated himself for it. Why did he have to go and ruin everything?

As the sun lowered over the Scholars Club house hill, the guests rolled into the living room. Chidi feigned a smile as he tore them in half, trying not to let his misery get the best of them. They had planned this ball for months and at least it was going well: the decorations colorful yet classy, the guests adorned in flowing gowns and fitted suits.

After he finished up registration, Chidi floated throughout the house to different groups, greeting them and asking if they were having a good time. It wasn’t a distraction, he tried to convince himself. It was part of his job as a board member. He wasn’t trying to keep his mind off shrimpfreak at all. He wasn’t even thinking about her.

“Chidi!” beckoned Simone from the kitchen.

Chidi let out a sad smile and moved towards Tahani, Uzo, and Simone. As he approached them, Tahani handed him a plate of shrimp. Chidi thanked her gratefully and popped it in his mouth, humming delightfully at its taste.

“Mmmm.” He turned to Tahani. “You did a great job with all of this. The shrimp is so much better than last year, and people seem to be having a great time.”

“It’s much better than the one Kamilah threw two years ago, isn’t it?”

“Oh, much better,” Chidi reassured, and he meant it. Kamilah’s taste was a little too loud and garish for him, but Tahani struck the tasteful balance between sophisticated and fun.

“Be honest,” Uzo slugged an arm around his shoulder. “How are you holding up, man?”

“Could be better,” He shrugged. “But, I’m not doing horrible. I think… I’m going to go outside for a little bit. Get some fresh air.”

“Oh,” Uzo dropped his arm from his shoulders. “Do you need anything else?”

“I’m okay.”

“Would you like some more shrimp, Chidi?” Tahani extended out another plate.

“I’m good,” Chidi tried to think of an excuse so he didn’t sound lame “I’ll come back in later… maybe… to get some more.”

Skeptically, Simone crossed her arms. “You’re going to go outside and read until you calm down for a bit, aren’t you?”

“I-I-I-I-I, um-” Chidi stuttered, but their gleeful chortles freed him explanation.

“Go ahead, mate,” Simone shooed him off. “Just come back after the dance ends to clean up. We’re going out to iHop after.”

Chidi confirmed their plans one last time before he left for the gazebo. On the way out, he grabbed his copy of Symposium, the one he had purposely left on the living room table in case he wanted to escape. Deftly, he balanced the book with his plate of shrimp as he pushed open the door. He paused on the steps to appreciate how beautiful the night was, the thickness of the black winter sky, the shimmering stars that lay overhead. The gazebo stood brightly against the dark with its fresh white paint, quickly drawing Chidi in with its solitaire.

Ever since he was a freshman, Chidi sought solace in the gazebo. He frequently snuck away when he needed to be by himself, especially after his grandmother passed away. It boasted a sprawling view of the campus and open panels that breathed in fresh air. Yes, the paint was chipping, and the roof crumbled when it rained, but Chidi loved it nonetheless. Last spring, Tahani held a fundraiser for its restoration, and by fall, it had returned to its former glory. The days of Chidi’s secret, safe place slipped away as he found kids, not even from the Scholar’s Club, using it as a gathering spot to down shots. He was surprised no one was out here right now. He hoped it stayed that way.

Chidi closed his eyes, listening to the plucking of the guitar seep out of the house. He was in his favorite place. The music inside was slowing, the shadows were swaying loosely, and he felt, just for once, that he could handle things.

He opened his book and begin to read.

“Hey nerd,” A brash voice echoed from the doorway mid-paragraph. He snapped his head up to see a familiar frame leaning against the entrance. Wait… was that? No… it couldn’t be…

“Are you reading Plato during the ball?” teased Eleanor. She sauntered over and joined him on the bench.

Chidi opened his mouth to ask her more questions, but instead, he broke into a grin. It was Eleanor. Of course it was Eleanor. No one else was as funny and hard-working and brave as she was. He should have known. He had crushes on both shrimpfreak and Eleanor for the same reasons; how could he not have figured it out before?

“Just needed to get away for a little bit.” He shut back his book and slid it to the side. Eleanor was dressed more casually than normal. Her hair was messy, she sported oversized, food-stained sweats, and still, Chidi couldn’t take his eyes off of her. “Did you kn-”

“Yeah, yeah, I knew,” Eleanor scoffed. “You leave your messages open way too much, Chidi.”

“Right,” Chidi couldn’t help but laugh. She was right. Tahani was always telling him that, too.

Eleanor bit her lip and gave him a shy smile.

He scooted closer to her.

“Um, I created a rough outline of the project!” She cried. She began fiddling with her fingers. “It’s almost done, we just have to add more details in the slides.”

“You worked on the project?” Chidi felt himself warm towards her. He knew how much she hated schoolwork. “Without us there?”

“Yeah,” Eleanor shifted in her seat. “I mean, you and Tahani and Jason are all my friends. I just figured it would make things easier for all of us, since I had the time.”

“That was really nice of you, Eleanor,” His voice fell quietly at the end of his sentence. Eleanor glanced down at her shoes, failing to hide her blush. Chidi wanted to hold her so badly, but he kept talking,

“So, you emancipated from your parents when you were fourteen?”

“Yup. That’s why I work three jobs. I’m surprised you never noticed. I’ve been on shift when you ordered your frozen mochas at the coffeehouse.”

“And you like shrimp?”

“More than I love life itself. And I’m ready to wolf down this unlimited free shrimp! If I’m still allowed to, that is.”

Chidi ducked his head down and chuckled to himself. He couldn’t wait to talk with her the rest of the night.  

“I can’t believe you came,” he said happily. “I’m really happy you did.”

“You are?” Eleanor’s eyes shone.

“Of course I am,” He lifted her hand and stroked her palm with his thumb. Eleanor wove her fingers in his and squeezed his hands, leaning her forehead against his.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. He could feel her shaking against him. “I said no because I freaked out, not because I didn’t want to see you.”

“I understand,” Chidi empathized. “I freak out all the time.”

“That couldn’t be more true,” Eleanor agreed endearingly.

They moved in closer to each other.

“Eleanor?” Chidi licked his lips nervously. He didn’t know why he was about to ask what he was about to ask, but he really wanted to. “Can I- can I kiss you?”

Eleanor beamed up at him.

“Go ahead, bud.”

Chidi sprang his lips onto Eleanor’s, moving his mouth passionately against hers. Eleanor drew back at first, startled, but then she sank into the kiss, her mouth curving against Chidi’s in a smile. Chidi removed his hand from hers and wrapped them around her back, sliding one down to her waist and the other up her back. As Eleanor laid her hands on his stomach and let them travel up to his shoulders, Chidi reveled in having her fingers against his chest. This, he realized, thoughts unlocking as they kissed and kissed, is what he always dreamed of. It was always Eleanor he heard when reading her messages. It was always Eleanor he imagined kissing. It was always Eleanor he longed to be near, and now he finally was: her tiny little body pressed against his, her mouth moving with trademark feistiness he admired and loved.

They kissed until their lips grew weary, reluctantly pulling apart as they clung to each other still. Eleanor gazed up at him, her eyes full, and it struck Chidi that he’d never seen her so happy. Guess they both made each other that way.

Chidi kissed her forehead as she snuggled herself his chest. He felt ready to make million decisions right then, with Eleanor in his arms in his favorite place, the brisk air gusting all around them.  

“Hey, shrimpfreak.” He bumbled as the music spilled back into the gazebo, “Do you- do you maybe want to dance? Um, with me?”

Eleanor laughed, tugging Chidi up onto his feet.

“Come on, Kantafficado.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Show me how it’s done.”

[reality-warp]

Point That Thing Somewhere Else: Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2 | Bonus

A/N: In answer to the very popular AU question in my inbox: what would it have been like if Eleanor had woken 65-ish years earlier in The Hobbit timeline, and joined the Company of Thorin Oakenshield instead of the Fellowship? Well…

We were down there for what felt like days before Thorin finally returned, informing us unashamedly that he’d insulted the king of the Woodland Realm into imprisoning us for probably the next hundred years.

I didn’t have the energy to be mad.

Or scared.

Or react at all really. Even when the occasional annoyed guard came to check up on us and peered curiously at me through the bars..

I was truly exhausted, and must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing I knew I’d woken up suddenly hours later, chilly, and curled on my side on the smooth stone of my cell.

How long had I been out?

It must have been a while. The rest of the company were all finally quiet again after hours of hurling dwarves abuse. And there was the sound of something going on up on the floors above. Sounds of laughter, and music, and the unmistakable clamours of happy, drunken merriment.

Whatever it was going on up there, it sounded like a miles better party than anything I’d ever seen thrown in Rivendell. I was almost sorry I hadn’t tried to blag my way out by cunning use of my elf status.

Almost.

As I sat up something metallic clattered to the stone beside me. I jumped a little at the echoing sound piercing the quiet, but relaxed when I saw it was only one of my little throwing knives — one of the few I’d managed to hide before we’d been forced to give up all out weapons by the supermodel brigade. The sight of it was oddly welcoming in the dim light of my cell, and a comforting weight in my hand when I picked it up, twirling it between my fingers like a pen.

“Where did you get that?”

This time, I did jump. The male voice had come from right outside my cell, and I jerked my head up to see the blond Disney prince glaring down at me from right outside the bars.

What the hell? How had he got so close without me hearing him?

His icy grey-blue eyes were fixed on the little throwing blade in my hand, his expression stuck somewhere between and confused and annoyed.

I smiled up at him, hiding my nerves behind the practiced wall of bravado I’d been perfecting over the past few weeks walking and talking with Fili and Kili. This prissy git didn’t need to know that I’d accidentally sliced through half the laces on the front of my breastband in my haste to hide the little blade up there. Or that I’d had to bite the inside of my mouth to keep from wincing every time the hilt poked into my boob as we’d been walked inside the halls.

“What? This little thing?” I asked, twirling the blade between my fingers like it was a playing card or a poker chip. “It’s barely a toothpick. I have surgical needles that could do more damage.”

The handsome elf didn’t look in the least bit impressed. He just stuck a bare upturned hand through the bars, and I noticed he’d changed out of his previous leather armour and gloves into so a simple green tunic — the nearest equivalent to casual wear elves generally got.

If it wasn’t for the death glare, he’d have almost looked at ease. At home.

“Hand it over,” he ordered. I eyed him, still smirking.

“Afraid I’ll pick my way out?”

He glared harder.

“Even if you did, there is nowhere in these halls where you could run.”

“You haven’t seen me run,” I countered, standing up to face him very carefully so I was exactly two paces from the door.

I’d worked out earlier that my cell was just big enough that if I stood in the absolute centre, I’d be just out of reach of anyone’s fingers were they to try and grab me through the bars. The dark expression that crept into his eyes said he knew it too, and I held up the little knife pretending to inspect it for dents.

“You know, highness,” I said feigning confidence I didn’t quite feel, and got a twinge of satisfaction at seeing his eye begin to twitch. “Just because you’re a prince doesn’t actually mean that everything you say goes. As you so eloquently pointed out earlier, you’re not my sovereign. So, if you want this back, you’re going to have to unlock that door to get to it.”

Judging by the look on his face moments before I was pretty sure my baiting words would have condensed his quiet annoyance into outright anger. Instead, his face shifted from a deep frown to a quietly puzzled expression, looking at me through the bars as if trying to solve a riddle in his head. Then his eyes flicked to the knife still held loosely in my grip, closed his eyes, shook his head, and walked away towards the stairs.

He’d barely gone a few steps when a nagging question flew out of me.

“How are the others?” I heard myself call before I could think better of it.

I knew he’d heard me when his footsteps halted. I really expected him to just ignore me and continue back to the party upstairs. So it was a bit of a surprise when he answered.

“They’re sleeping…” he said quietly, paused, then added; “And snoring.”

The air escaped my lungs in a rush of relief.

“Good,” I whispered, closing my eyes for a second, letting a little of the anxiety leave me. “It’s been a long journey, they’re all exhausted. Might not be high class accommodation but at least they’re getting time to rest properly.”

Maybe the wine he’d had at the feast upstairs had loosened his rigid grasp of protocol because when I opened my eyes he was at the bars of my cells again. Only this time he didn’t look angry, annoyed, or judgment. He just looked confused.

“You care about their wellbeing so much?” He asked softly. He actually had a nice voice now that it wasn’t laced with distain. Low, smooth, and surprisingly gentle.

I met his eyes through the bars and refused to flinch away from them.

“I’m their healer. It’s my job.”

“And what does a Dwarven company require of an Elven healer?” He asked, that curious gleam never leaving his eyes.

I shrugged nonchalantly.

“Besides a regular cure for hangovers?” I asked, folding my arms and smiling at him. He didn’t look impressed, rolling his eyes and starting to turn away again. The odd thing was, for some reason, the very idea of him going and leaving me here on my own in the quiet again made me feel cold. So, again, I spoke without thinking. “Your Guard Captain was down here earlier. She seems to have grown quite fond of our second youngest and his tall tales.”

Again, he stopped. Well froze really, only turning back to face me after he’d schooled his handsome face into a deliberately neutral expression.

It looked a little like he’s just bitten into a lemon.

“What?”

I shrugged again. “Your Guard Captain. You know: hazel eyes, wicked with daggers, long red hair past her hips. She was down here listening to Kili telling stories just a little while ago.”

Now it looked as if he’d bitten into a rotten lemon.

“What? You disapprove?” I asked amused, eyeing him closely. When he didn’t react, I leaned forward, squinting at him. Then my eyes widened as I realised what he was trying to hide. “Oh my God, you’re jealous!”

That spurned Disney prince analogy was starting to look rather accurate.

“I am certainly not,” Legolas’s sharp cheekbones coloured very slightly as he scowled at me. I snorted.

“Please, with a pokerface like that you have no secrets.”

His annoyed expression turned even more pink around the ears, and I almost regretted the jibe. Trying to soften my amused expression, I inclined my head to him.

“Have you thought about just telling her?”

I don’t think I could have gotten a most flustered reaction from if I’d started stripping right there in the cell.

“That is not—” he all but sputtered, unable to hide the reddening of his cheeks, neck and ears, even when he dragged a hand down the centre if his face. He half sighed half growled at me. “Even if I were, I hardly think it is any concern of yours.”

I just raised an eyebrow at him. He glared down at me for a long moment, then finally made a disgusted noise, all but throwing his hands up in defeat.

“You truly expect me to take romantic advice from a prisoner being held in my own cells?”

“They aren’t your cells, Prince Charming, they’re the King’s. Anyway, it’s not like I have anything better to do in here than hand out unsolicited advice.” I waved a hand as if sweeping away the idea, leaning towards him a little more in question. “So?”

He looked away down the hall at the other cells, rubbing the back of his neck in aggravation, as if afraid another guard might appear on the stairs and overhear him. But he didn’t leave.

“I… have considered it,” he admitted reluctantly. I nodded in understanding, refusing to let the amused smile onto my face.

“She seems fond of you.”

“Not in that way.”

“I noticed that too,” I said gently. “I’m sorry.”

His handsome face twisted at the edges, a dark look slipping down over his eyes as he stared hard at me through the gloom.

“I do not require your pity.”

I rolled my eyes at him, not even trying to hide my annoyance.

“It’s not pity, you knob. Its empathy,” I snapped, sinking down to sit crosslegged on the floor of my cell, leaning my elbows on my knees. “I know what its like to not feel good enough for someone.”

Silence hung in the air like fog for a long while. I didn’t bother to look up, and was half sure he’d vanished back upstairs again. But then he asked me something I hadn’t been asked in almost three years.

“What is your name?”

I looked up from the stone floor of my prison to meet his eyes. His pokerface was back in place, but his eyes were no longer chips of ice boring into mine. They were the soft grey-blue of a winter sky at dawn, when the sunlight is a gentle warmth on your skin, but the frost in the air is crisp enough to show each of your breaths as steam…

“Eleanor,” I answered softly, hearing myself as if far away, then without thinking added; “my friends call me Ellie.”

Now why the hell had I told him that?

“And why are you travelling with thirteen Dwarves, Eleanor?” He asked, nodding his head towards the other cells where I could hear Dwalin and Bomber snoring. I rolled my shoulders in a tired shrug.

“Does it matter? It won’t change the fact that I have a set of bars between me a freedom now.”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, stepping a little closer to said bars. “But I would still like to know.”

I’d never been very good a lying, and I’d never liked doing it even when I had to. I’d barely known this pointy-eared guy for a few hours, if that. I didn’t like him, and I didn’t trust him. But for some reason the very idea of being even vaguely dishonest with him made my stomach twist in discomfort. I couldn’t explain why, but it felt like he’d know I was deceiving him by just hearing my voice.

I shifted in my sitting position, suddenly uncomfortable there on the cold stone floor.

“I’m… looking for something. Or someone, I guess,” I admitted, avoiding his eyes and instead fixing my gaze on his tunic’s embroidered collar. “… My brother.”

“Would I know him by name?” He asked. I pulled a face and shook my head in an uncertain motion.

“I don’t know. I’m having some… issues with my memory. I can only remember a nickname, a voice, and a face… Var. His name is Var. Curly brown hair, green eyes like mine.” I explained, curling my arms around myself, the words tumbling out of me without me really thinking about them, or who I was offering them up to. “I know it’s not much to go on.”

He inclined his head in agreement, that gentle look in his cool eyes softening just a little more than before.

“Indeed not. Though if I happen to hear of him, I will inform you.”

I blinked up at him in surprise. But I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Thanks,” I murmured, a bit dazed by the sudden civilness. He just nodded at me in acceptance of the gratitude, and before he could move to either speak again or walk away, and shifted forward to interrupt him. “By the way there is something I wanted to ask of you actually.”

Now it was his turn to raise a dark gold eyebrow at me.

“Oh?”

“My knife, the one you took back in the forest…”

Maybe it was my imagination, but I could have sworn I saw a flicker of remorse cross his features before it was smoothed away.

“I cannot return it to you while you are still a prisoner,” he told me gently.

“Obviously not,” I said impatiently, sighing and giving him what I hoped was a sincere look. “Just… look after it for me, please? It’s very important to me.”

To my surprise, he didn’t turn his nose up at me or sneer. He looked me dead in the face and inclined his head, placing his head over his heart in promise as he did.

“No harm will come to it. You have my word.”

I don’t know why, but I believed him completely, and the relief that came with it forced the breath from me in a rush.

“Thank you,” I smiled, genuinely this time.

Again, maybe it was my imagination, but I could have sworn for a second that he almost returned it, the corner of his lip twitching ever so slightly upwards…

“Though, on that subject of blades, there is just one more problem that requires my attention.”

“And what is—?”

Before I knew what was happening, his arm had shot through the bars like a striking snake, seizing me by the wrist. I was pulled off the floor as he yanked me towards him, falling hard against the door at an awkward angle. My knife — which I’d almost entirely forgotten I was holding — fell from my fingers, and went clattering through the bars and across the floor outside.

Bloody hell, he was strong.

I could almost feel the future ring of finger-shaped bruises encircling my wrist. I was almost too shocked to react at first, the sudden pain rushing up my side from where I’d hit the doorway. Pulling myself out of my daze I noticed absently that he was still holding my arm in his hand, though not nearly as firmly as before. I automatically opened my mouth to give him an ear full and…

And the words died instantly on my tongue.

I hadn’t realised how close we’d got when he pulled me to the door, and the shock had forced me to suck in a startled breath. And with it, the unmistakable scent of freshly cut grass, pine needles, the aroma of a forest after a rainstorm, all lightly tinged with the rich notes of red elvish wine…

His scent, my subconscious purred, the thought sending an uncomfortably warm sensation pulsing through me.

But that made no sense. How could one person smell like all those things at once?

My nose had become ludicrously good as an elf. I could identify most toxins and herbs just by their scent alone, but this was…

Whatever had just happened to me, something similar have obviously happened with him too. The blond elf prince just stared at me incredulously, still gripping my bare wrist, though his hold had gone slack. I could feel the warmth of his paralysed fingers on my skin, his blue-grey eyes wide with shock, lips slightly parted…

And barely inches away from my own.

I jerked away from the bars on instinct, falling onto my butt and trying to put as much distance as I could between our faces. He made no attempt to hold me there. He just stared slack-jawed and wide-eyed at me, like I’d just whispered a terrible secret in his ear.

“Wha…what just…?”

But I didn’t get a chance to finish asking what in hell had just happened before he stood, winter sky eyes still wide, and fled back up the stairs on eerily soundless feet.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Bonus

[qualitytimewithpeteanddeb-blog]

Quality Time With Pete and Deb - Trump’s First Week

Peter Grosz and Debra Downing are alums of The Second City Theater, writers, actors and husband and wife, living in Brooklyn, NY. This piece was composed at home on their computer exactly as you see it. One person would write and the other would respond, essentially like an improvised written “conversation”. The content was not pre-planned. They only decided to talk about President Trump’s first week in office. They wrote on January 26th.

PETE: So it was a pretty uneventful first week. If you don’t count the controversy over crowd size, accusations of massive voter fraud, a GIANT protest march, executive orders undoing Obamacare, reinstating black sites and bringing back waterboarding, gag orders on federal agencies dealing with global warming, re-starting the Dakota and Keystone pipelines, proposing immigration bans from certain countries and giving Mexico the middle finger I’d say not much happened.

DEB: OH MY INDIGESTION! I didn’t mean to capitalize that but I think I will leave it. I have started taking a probiotic to help me with a condition I have called Trump Stomach. I got enough to last four years. Hopefully I won’t have to re-up. I think the inaugural speech was so insulting to the country and to the past Presidents who came to support the idea of the peaceful transfer of power. I wept as the gracious and elegant Obamas boarded that helicopter to leave the office. I’ve had a cold ever since that I can’t shake. But I have to say I was very encouraged by the attendance at all the marches. That is heartening don’t you think? By the way I’m sorry I gave you my cold.

PETE: Yeah, what the hell? Was that the message of the women’s march? That it’s OK to give your husband a cold? Not cool. I too was heartened by the turnout and enthusiasm, especially from little towns in the middle of Alabama or people who marched in freezing weather in Alaska. I was disheartened by stupid news reports that made fun of marchers or framed their coverage as, “What do these crazy women want, anyway? What the hell is going on here?” as if they were some unwashed mass of human garbage that was mysteriously swept onto The Mall by a gust of wind. I feel like there will be a real return to protest in the next four years and if he doesn’t do right by enough people the marches will only grow. I don’t want to root against him, I truly don’t, but it seems like the path he’s choosing is going to alienate more and more people as he goes.

DEB: It’s true. I think the fantasy that he would somehow change into a completely different person once he took the oath of office is over. He is who he is. I think there will be more and more protests as time goes on. There seems to be a realization that Democracy is fragile and so are your rights and you still have to fight for them or they could be taken away. By the way, don’t be surprised when people say negative things about a group of women getting together. Some people find it very unnerving because it threatens to upset the role of power in our society. To all those people I say, “Don’t worry bout a thing sweetie, we’re just having a Tupperware party! You know how important it is for we homemakers to organize! I mean to be organized. No, I mean to organize.”

PETE: Just reading that last part sent chills up my spine. All those women in one place… talking about God knows what… Someone told me that “Tupperware” is an anagram of  “Topple The Patriarchy”. That’s true, right? I don’t want you going out of the house today. Or reading the newspaper. Or watching TV. Or talking to the cat. Or the dog. Or the appliances. Just sit in the corner and darn my socks.

DEB: At least the appliances are non political. All they want to talk about is Tesla and Edison. Umbierto is very concerned about the building of the Wall because he thinks he is from Mexico and the dog Frankie Five Angels thinks he is in protective custody until he testifies against the Mafia. I’ve got my hands full around here! PS .- throw out all your socks and underwear that have holes in them!

PETE: We should explain that we named our dog, Frankie, after Frank Pentangelis from Godfather 2, who’s nickname was Frankie Five Angels and who was in protective custody until he testified against Michael Corleone. And we should explain that we named our cat Umbierto for no good reason whatsoever. Back to Trump… Or rather, back to my underwear, which I’m apparently supposed to throw away just because it has massive holes in it. Ever heard of “breathability”? Or “exhibitionism”? This is ridiculous. You were never like this before Trump became president. What’s your deal?

DEB: I guess I just really feel empowered as a woman! I finally feel strong enough to say, “Hey- that’s gross! Buy new underwear and socks!” Wow, that felt good. I bet Eleanor Roosevelt had to say that to FDR all the time. I’m going to light a scented candle to celebrate! Then I’m gonna tell those appliances what I think of them!

PETE: I think we’ve gotten a little off track. That’s just what Trump wants. He wants us arguing about socks and underwear while he’s dismantling our liberties and environment and relationships with our neighbors. Don’t you just feel so on edge all the time? Like he could do something crazy at any minute? I honestly wonder what life is like for people who are excited for Trump. What’s it like to not watch the news peeking through your fingers like when you’re watching a scary scene in a horror movie?

DEB: Nobody wants to be wrong. I bet there are some people who are having buyer’s remorse but I’m sure they are not running to reporters to say, “Uh oh – this is bad.” I think his supporters are hoping there will be some job creation at least? I just hope these same people don’t lose their healthcare or fall deeper into financial crisis. I am rooting for these people to feel better about things, I just don’t think Trump is a real cure for what ails them.

PETE: I agree. As far as a Trump voter, or anyone, is hurting, they deserve relief. I know he’s certainly not the cure for what ails me and on some level I’m prepared to put up with disappointment for 4 years and resist what I can’t put up with. I also think it’s interesting that people are using the word “Resistance” so often in reference to standing up to Trump. I recall plenty of people being unhappy with Bush or Obama’s decisions but you didn’t hear the word “Resistance” that much. It makes Trump seem like a ruthless dictator or intergalactic overlord. I mean, the things he does also make him seem like a ruthless dictator or intergalactic overlord so I guess I get why people are using that word

DEB: Well now you’ve gone and made me like the term “intergalactic overlord”.

PETE: Oh great, now when we get invaded by an actual intergalactic overlord you’re gonna roll over. You’re such a sucker for a catchy job title. 9

DEB: Wait until you see the outfit The Intergalactic Overlord gets to wear! It’s kind of a combination between Liberace and Flava Flav. I have this all worked out. I’m gonna be the Kelly Ann Conway to this guy/girl/creature/plant/energy field. You see, it will come to take over the planet when major coastal cities are disappearing into the sea, drought, famine, super storms, war, nuclear winter… you know, all that jazz is happening. He’ll have a press conference where he chastises the humans for being so irresponsible with the planet –

WITH A GREAT CLAP OF THUNDER AND LIGHTING, A DARK FIGURE APPEARS IN A CLOUD OF FOG

A BOOMING VOICE IS HEARD.

BOOMING VOICE: Don’t put words in my mouth!

DEB: Please tell me you are The Intergalactic Overlord.

BOOMING VOICE: Actually I am the Press Secretary for the Intergalactic Overlord.

DEB: I was gonna say, you’re not wearing the right outfit.

BOOMING VOICE: Well, my good dark cloak is at the dry cleaners. I got a bunch of Argonfefutosol sauce on it and can’t get it out. You know how it is

DEB: What’s Argonfefutosol?

BOOMING VOICE: It’s like your Cholula but about twenty times spicier and made out Fefutosol.

DEB: What’s Fefutosol?

BOOMING VOICE: You don’t want to know

PETE: Um, my ears are bleeding from your booming voice, Mr. Press Secretary, can you please boom a little less?

BOOMING VOICE: Oh, you just assume I’m a man? How sexist.

PETE: I’m sorry, it’s just your voice. Mrs. Press Secretary

BOOMING VOICE: I’m not a woman either. I am a genderless Fog Figure.

PETE: Ok. I hope you don’t have to use any public bathrooms while you’re here. We’ve got a whole stupid thing going on with that.

BOOMING VOICE: Too late.

DEB: What does that mean?

BOOMING VOICE: Anyway, I am here to relay the message that you still have time to change Scrooge - I mean humans – sorry, I was just in a production of  “A Christmas Carol” and I’ve got that in stuck in my brain. I received quite a few good notices for my performance. We are currently in rehearsals for “Oklahoma” in which I shall play Ado Annie.

PETE: Yeah, we’re not going to see that. Can you just tell us what you came to tell us?

BOOMING VOICE: Yes, sorry. Our ticket sales have just been abysmal so I’m trying to get anyone to come see it. You still have time to change, humans. You must not despair. You must stand up for what you believe in and not let your world be destroyed by a narcissistic egomaniac. (Whispering) Believe me, I know. My boss, the Intergalactic Overlord is such an intergalactic A-hole.

DEB: Well thanks for the positive encouragement. We’ll take it. I have so many questions about –

BOOMING VOICE: Where to get tickets for Oklahoma?

DEB: No… about the Universe.

BOOMING VOICE: I can only answer questions regarding tickets for the Intergalactic Community Players Productions. Sorry.

PETE: Well then maybe you can just go and we’ll figure things out for ourselves.

BOOMING VOICE: Agreed! You must be independent and brave. Much like Ado Annie who had to…

PETE: Get out of here!

WITH A GREAT CLAP OF THUNDER AND LIGHTING, THE DARK FIGURE DISAPPEARS AND THE FOG CLEARS.

PETE: I guess we’re lucky we’re not ruled by an actual intergalactic overlord. And that Sean Spicer isn’t trying to get everyone to see his play.

DEB: Well, it’s only the first week.

PETE: It’s gonna be a long four years…

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

An Alice Man

PART FIVE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: mentions of death, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 4.2K

Summary: On a catastrophic afternoon, Ella confronts Jess about his evasive behavior. Later, the annual basket sale disrupts a weekend shift at the diner.

At first, she thought nothing of it. The snubs, when he would look away from her just as he caught her eyes, refusal to hold a conversation disguised as being busy. After all, she didn’t need Jess. She got plenty of social interaction at school and at work, but there was something suspicious in the sudden turnaround of their banter. The cold shoulder was getting old. Her patience finally wore thin on a stormy Monday. February had warmed at an unexpected rate, and the rain rather than snow had begun to fall the week before. Ella suspected another wave of snow would move in before the winter was really over, or she hoped it would. A fire of annoyance was brewing in her stomach as she jogged the distance from Stars Hollow High to the diner, having forgotten her umbrella in the morning. She had only her leather jacket, and had opted to shield her messenger bag instead of her hair in order to save her homework.

With damp hair and her dark eye makeup running a little under her eyes, she stormed into the diner. To add insult to injury, she had slipped on the gravelly slush on the way, and her jeans had torn at the knee. The edges of the ripped denim were tinged red, her skin scraped. She hung her sopping bag and coat from the hanger near the door. They dripped rainwater on the tile floor and she sighed internally. She would definitely have to mop later. Before anyone could say a word, she retreated to the kitchen and tried to ring her hair out. She ran some napkins under her eyes, and they came away dark with eyeshadow and mascara. There was no mirror in the kitchen, but she had a pretty good idea of what she looked like. The words “drowned rat” came to mind, and her rosebud lips were set in a tight, tense line.

Heaving a sigh, she tied her apron around her hips, nearly slipping again in her black clogs. She ignored the stinging in her knee and came around the counter. Rain always slowed business, and there were only a few people in the diner. Lorelai and Rory sat at the counter, Luke speaking with them, while Jess read Naked Lunch on the stool he had stolen and put near the door to the kitchen. He hadn’t looked up or acknowledged her when she brushed past him.

“Um, Ella?” Lorelai asked when she saw the girl.

Grabbing a pencil and a pad to shove into her pocket, Ella finally felt as though the rushed adrenaline was fading in her. “Hey, guys, what’s up?”

“Got caught in the rain, huh?” Rory surmised, eyeing her curiously, warily.

Ella furrowed her brows at their strange looks, and how Luke was averting his gaze from her. “Yep. I forgot my umbrella, I fell down on Main, I probably bombed my chem test, I lost my calc textbook and didn’t find it until I spent twenty minutes going through the entire math wing after class, and Jess still has my copy of Jane Eyre,” she enumerated her grievances, caught up in her rant, pointing an angry finger towards Jess on her last note.

On a normal day, she would have swallowed down her irritation and put on a fake sunshiney demeanor. But with virtually only Rory and Lorelai in the diner, she had ended up spewing out all her frustration. She didn’t mention the fight she’d had with her dad in the morning, though. That could wait for the next movie night in the Gilmore house.  

Jess looked up once, lazily, at the sound of his name, and then went back to his reading.

“Okay, honey, I’m sorry, but it’s gonna get worse before it gets better,” Lorelai said, trying to placate her. Sometimes, Ella could get wound as tight as Rory, though always for different reasons.

“What?”

“The shirt situation is not lookin’ so good right now,” Lorelai informed her. Luke had begun puttering with the cash register, checked out from the conversation.

Ella looked down at her shirt and immediately flushed scarlet. She’d worn a white long-sleeve with a black outline of Lou Reed’s face. With the saturation from the rain, the white cotton had become almost entirely see-through and her black bra was completely visible.

“You have got to be kidding,” she said softly to herself, burying her face in her hands.

Again, Jess looked up at the noise and assessed the situation, sputtering something between a sound of surprise and a chuckle when he saw what had happened. Ella arched an eyebrow at him, then switched from thinking mode to acting mode. She grabbed Jess by his sleeve and began dragging him towards the store room.

��Jesus! What-” he began, but she cut him off as they made it into the back.

“What the hell is your problem?!” she exclaimed, crossing her arms over her chest self-consciously.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said dejectedly, avoiding eye contact.

“Really, tough guy? You don’t know?” Ella asked, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Look, I know we’re not best friends. In fact, we barely even count as coworkers! And honestly, I couldn’t give a fuck if you ever talk to me again. But, I want my books and my records back! And the next time you wanna hide a black eye from Luke, I wouldn’t count on me helping you!”

“Eleanor, I-”

“Don’t Eleanor me, Jess,” she scoffed.

Jess cast his eyes down at his black boots, and Ella was surprised to find him looking squirmy.

“Luke told me, alright?” he said after a long pause, finally facing her.

“Told you what?” she demanded.

“About your mom and your dad and why you work here,” he blurted out, trying to maintain his hard exterior though embarrassment crawled beneath his skin.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Ella brought a hand to her necklace and let out another long, frustrated sigh. “Alright. Yes, my mom’s dead and my dad’s not winning any parenting awards. What does that have to do with you morphing into a jackass the last few weeks? More of a jackass than normal?”

“The entire town hates me. And I don’t care. But I figured it would be better for you not to have to deal with-”

“Yeah right,” she mumbled, glancing back at the door to the diner, hoping no one could hear them but knowing everyone probably could. “Luke told you to stay away from me, didn’t he?”

“No, he-”

“Don’t bullshit me, Jess.”

“Alright, fine, yes. But I get it.”

Running a hand through her hair, Ella tried to quiet the emotions swarming around within her. “Well, I’m flattered you’ve decided to give me so much choice in the matter.”

“I-”

“Y’know, I’m pretty sick of everyone assuming I’m some scared little girl who needs protecting!” she fumed, speaking with her hands. “Because, guess what, I got dealt a bad hand. And I made it through almost entirely on my own. I’m almost eighteen years old, and I get to choose what I do and who I hang out with! Alright?”

Ella shot him an expectant look. Jess crossed his arms and sighed, nodding in acknowledgment.

“Great! And, just so we’re clear, I’m plenty smart enough to avoid your dumbass antics on my own!”

Her face was set in determination, posture rigid. Redness warmed her skin, her hazel eyes alight with fire. Jess waited a beat, to see whether or not she had finished. After a moment, it seemed like her speech was over. Heaving a breath, Ella fiddled with her blonde waves once more, trying to calm her nerves, remembering again what a shitty day she’d had. But at least she knew what was up with Jess. She knew she would have to assure Luke of her safety at some point, but she had to calm down first. Ever since her mother had died, he, along with Lorelai, had begun looking out for her. It was appreciated, but coupled with the concern of the rest of the town, she, at times, felt suffocated. Especially considering none of those people had to come home with her and face the daily trash of the Stevens household. They didn’t have to listen to her father fucking his new girlfriend in the middle of the night and walk past the old photographs of her mother the next morning. Not even if they continued dropping off random pity casseroles.

Finally, Jess broke the charged silence. “Do you want me to grab you a shirt from upstairs?”

Swallowing thickly, Ella nodded. She wrapped her arms more tightly around her middle. “Please.”

“When I get back, if you want, I can give you my full Jane Eyre review,” he said, his regular smirk returning.

Ella’s muscles relaxed, and she felt relief flood her system, though her voice still held a pronounced bite. “Well, it took you fucking long enough!”

.   .   .

Wiping down the main counter, Ella still fumed beneath her surface. Her blood had cooled about Jess. With everything he had on his record already, she could understand him not wanting to piss Luke off. Well, not piss him off more than the moderate amount he did on a daily basis. But then there was Luke and Lorelai. It made sense for them to team up as her surrogate guardians in the wake of her mother’s death considering how completely in love with each other they were. But Ella never had any interest in talking about what happened, and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t insulted to be treated like an aimless toddler. The moment her mother died, everyone started seeing her like the little girl in overalls and blonde pigtails she once was.

Heart beating nervously against her ribs, Ella glanced suspiciously from side to side. It was past nine, closing time, and Jess was in the back washing up the last of the dishes. Luke was unplugging the equipment behind the counter. Ella cleared her throat anxiously.

“Um, Luke?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you tell Jess to stay away from me?” she asked pointedly, having stopped her circular movements of the dish towel in her hand.

Luke froze, facing away from her. She saw his shoulders tense beneath his red flannel. After a beat, he turned back to her and crossed his arms. Leaning against the back counter, he took on an all-knowing stance. However, Ella could not help but think he gave off a less emotionally intelligent vibe than he was going for.

“I just don’t want him getting you into trouble,” he began warily.

She raised her eyebrows, mirroring his stance. Jess’s grey thermal shirt hung loosely on her frame, the sleeves rolled up in bunches to her elbows. Her hair, tied back loosely in a low ponytail, had finally dried. And she’d salvaged her eye makeup in the bathroom with the help of paper towels and sink water. But still, her body was tired from the trials of the day. Monday was usually upsetting, but only very rarely so disastrous.

“Did it ever occur to you that I can keep myself out of trouble?” she asked, subtle hostility dripping from her tone.

“Ella-”

“No, really, am I so helpless that I can’t avoid gnome-stealing?” she asked seriously, maintaining constant eye contact.

Luke mulled it over in her head, then nodded his head, conceding. “Okay, I’m sorry. I was just worried.”

She sighed. In spite of her mood, a small, kind smile crossed Ella’s lips. “Really, Luke, you don’t have to worry. I’m not even friends with that jackass. I’m just educating him in quality literature and vinyl collecting. He has no taste.”

Matching her smile, Luke nodded again and went back to work. “Okay, just don’t let him bother you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

.   .   .

Tossing a dull pencil behind her furiously, Ella growled slightly. She retrieved a second pencil from the bun in her hair, underlining another phrase. The streets of Stars Hollow were slick from a cool morning drizzle, leftover fall leaves, shades of gold and orange, stuck to the asphalt. Biting her lip in concentration, she only let up when she began to taste coppery blood. She was glad for the silence in the diner. The annotations alone were enough to make her brain feel like it was going to implode. Even the mid-morning regulars were occupied, as the entire town stood on the grassy square facing the gazebo. The annual basket sale was underway, the meals for sale ranging from Lorelai’s inedible ruffage to Sookie’s impeccable lunch.

“Y’know you’re gonna end up takin’ someone’s eye out,” Jess drawled, hunched over his own book on a stool near the register.

“Thanks for the warning,” she deadpanned back.

Sighing, Jess saved his place in his book and tossed it on the back counter. “Why don’t you take a break? You’ve been at that for like three hours.”

“No can do,” she said, still not taking her eyes from the text in her hands.

Jess scoffed. “What are you up to anyway?”

Ella groaned at his persistence, finally shutting her book with a snap! “It’s for my spring paper. I’m comparing the modernist depiction of Catholicism in Portrait of the Artist and Death Comes for the Archbishop.”

“I thought you loved James Joyce? A very misguided preference, by the way.”

“I do,” she snapped, her tone wary. “But he’s just one half of the paper. I’m reading Cather right now and I fucking hate it.”

“Sorry to hear that. It’s tragic,” Jess said flatly.

“Bite me.”

Just as they were both getting back into the groove of their reading, Lane burst through the door with a frantic look. She bumped into a few tables on her way to the counter, the metal legs screeching against the tile floor. Ella eyed her in slight amusement and concern.

“Where’s the fire, Lane?” she asked.

“Okay, Ella, I need you to take a deep breath before I tell you this,” Lane began in a sugary voice, refusing to make eye contact.

Ella narrowed her gaze. “Why?”

Jess looked up curiously.

“I really think you should-”

“Lane,” Ella said, dropping her book and pencil, trying to keep her tone even though her heart was in the throat. “Just spit it out. I can take it.”

“Miss Patty made you a basket and they’re about it to bid on it,” Lane said in a rush, taking a step back in preparation for the outburst she knew would follow. She was correct.

“What?” Ella exclaimed, immediately scurrying out from behind the counter and busting through the diner doors. Before leaving completely, she called out in the direction of the stock room, where Luke was doing inventory: “I’m taking my fifteen!”

His interest piqued, Jess hopped down from his stool and followed. Throwing on his jacket and stuffing his hands in his pockets, a smirk formed on his lips at Ella’s irritation. She had her arms wrapped tightly around her middle as she jogged to the square, stopping at the edge of the large crowd where she found Miss Patty. A damp chill blew in the spring air.

“Patty, did you make me a basket?” Ella asked the woman in the drapey velvet outfit.

Blowing a stream of blue smoke from her dark red lips, Patty nodded and laughed. “Of course, dear. I think it’s about time for the summer of your youth.”

Ella shut her eyes for a moment, collecting her anxious words. “I appreciate the concern but I don’t need any help-”

“And, next up, we’ve got this beautiful little basket for everyone’s favorite waitress, Ella Stevens!” Taylor announced from his podium in the gazebo, readying his gavel for the impending bids.

“Trust me. You’ll thank me later, doll,” Miss Patty winked, a knowing smile spread over her made-up face.

Sighing heavily, Ella turned to face the gazebo and felt a mix of panic and frustration churning in her stomach. She looked around for Lane, a desperate search for a friendly face, but Lane had already found the cousin who had bought her basket. Ella knew all about the plot to share the basket with Henry, the boy Lane had met at the Chilton party. She would have been happier for her friend if their method of dating didn’t involve such an insulting town tradition. Instead of Lane, she found only Jess standing beside her, failing to hide his laughter. She rolled her eyes at him, face flushing scarlet when Taylor announced the first bid.

“We’ll start at five dollars!”

“Fuck me,” she growled under her breath.

“Language, Eleanor,” Jess mocked from her right side. But then, he raised an arm and shouted: “Ten dollars!”

“What the hell, Mariano?” she hissed, trying to grab his arm and lower it.

Taylor acknowledged Jess’s bid and waited for another taker to show a hand for fifteen dollars. After a beat of silence, Ella felt the heat on her face growing. She felt as though the entire town had eyes on her. Mercifully, there was little bidding. After a few more random bids from a couple boys she only vaguely recognized from school, Taylor struck his gavel on the podium, and a meager amount of applause sounded. Ella tried to catch Jess’s attention to chew him out as he walked up to retrieve the basket, but he ignored her attempts at engagement.

“And sold for thirty dollars to the nice young hoodlum in the back!”

Strolling back to Ella, Jess could already see the frustrated crease between her brows. She had her arms crossed over her chest defiantly, and he nodded his head for her to accompany him as he began the short walk back to the diner.

“Jess, what-”

“Shall we?” he asked, finally casting her an expectant glance.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, stepping in front of him and putting a hand on his chest.

“Let’s go eat. You should probably grab your jacket first, though,” he reasoned, the smirk never leaving his face.

Slowly, the tension began to leave her figure and her expression cooled off. Her eyes widened in surprise, a bit of confusion, and she laughed nervously. “I’m working. So are you.”

“Really? Because I think I just saw Lorelai run in there and turned the sign closed.”

Over her shoulder, Ella saw Lorelai pushing Luke from the front door, pleading with him to bid on her basket. And when the sign was in view again, she saw it indeed read Closed. Scoffing in disbelief, Ella tucked a wild piece of hair behind her ear.

“I really think it’s time to solve the mystery of whatever Miss Patty thought your suitor would like for lunch. I’m starving. Aren’t you?” Jess gestured to the basket and his smirk turned to a smile.

Shaking her head self consciously, Ella turned a glance down to her black converse for a moment before looking back at Jess. “Alright, but we need to be back for the dinner shift.”

“Good,” Jess said quickly, brushing past her to the diner. “C’mon, we don’t have all day.”

.   .   .

Afternoon light glimmered off the lake as Ella and Jess walked down the dock. Birds chirped from somewhere off in the surrounding woods, and Ella took in a deep breath of the clean nature. Out on the dock, the pine permeated the air pleasantly. Though the breeze was cool, the sun shone down and warmed her face as she glanced up to the clouds passing across the pristine blue sky. It struck Ella how long it had been since she had really enjoyed the weather. The thought almost made her embarrassed, such a simple perk of life she had been ignoring. So often it felt as though she viewed her reality through window panes, only the room changing around her. She was reminded of Emily Dickinson, watching the world change around her and experiencing it all through only her imagination and her poetry. There was such a bittersweet beauty to the thought, and it painfully struck the small part of Ella’s heart reserved only for private wishes.

“Earth to Eleanor,” Jess said, waving a hand in front of her face. “Jeez, what’s on your mind?”

She smiled and shook her head at herself, following Jess’s lead as he sat down on the edge of the dock, placing the basket in between the two of them. “Emily Dickinson.”

Jess rolled his eyes. “Has anyone ever told you how wildly unpredictable you are?”

“All the time.”

Chuckling, Jess poised his hands over the basket lid, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Ready, Nancy Drew?”

“That I am. Which Hardy Boy are you? Just so we’re clear on this metaphor,” she said with mock gravity.

“I think I’m a Frank,” Jess answered.

Ella nodded. “Yeah. I agree.”

Slowly, dramatically, Jess pulled back the lid of the basket, a fake sunflower garnishing the top. Frankly, though, it had been one of the least tacky baskets of the entire bunch. Inside, they found pastries. Tons and tons of pastries. Just from the sweet and yeasty smell, so familiar, Ella knew they were made by Fran at Weston’s bakery. They were assorted danishes. Jess tentatively pushed them aside to see if there was anything else, but the danishes were it. As the realization came over both of them, Ella erupted in laughter.

“Okay, seriously, what the hell?” Jess asked through his own breathy chuckles. He watched as Ella threw her head back, her blonde hair glinting in the sunlight, gripping her stomach as she laughed.

Catching her breath, Ella shook her head knowingly. “I have zero explanation for this. She means well.”

Jess snorted. “Clearly.”

They both took a danish each, the crinkling of wax paper as they began eating the only sound besides the gentle lapping of the water against the dock and the chirping birds. Ella opted for an apple, while Jess took a cherry.

“So, why does Miss Patty think you need a basket anyway?” Jess broke the ice again after a moment of comfortable silence, both their gazes trained on the greenish-clear water before them. Across the expanse of the lake, there were only pine trees, the spring grass was just beginning to come back in patches below them.

Ella rolled her eyes and grimaced. “She thinks I need someone to ‘share my youthful body with while it lasts.’”

“Wow."

“I know. Patty’s always meddling, but I’m not big on the dating thing.”

Something indecipherable passed across Jess’s face for a moment at her words, but Ella barely noticed it. She swallowed down the last of her danish.

“And you hate the basket thing?” he asked through crumbs.

“It’s just so fucking sexist. Parading the women of Stars Hollow around, literally giving them away to the highest bidder. I know it’s tradition, but it’s such bullshit,” she said, speaking with her hands as her passion mounted.

Jess nodded, and Ella was surprised to see how earnest he looked. “Yeah, it is very...Henry VIII. Isn’t it?”

“Totally. I’ve tried to bring it up at town meetings. But old habits die hard, apparently.”

“That they do.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Excuse me?”

She gestured to the basket between them. “Why’d you buy my basket?”

Jess shrugged. “I don’t know. Heat of the moment. You seemed pretty pissed. Thought I’d save you from those other assholes who were bidding.”

“I don’t need any saving,” she remarked pointedly, though she then shot him a benevolent look. “But thank you.”

“Duly noted and you’re welcome. If it makes you feel any better, it wasn’t my intention to support an antiquated, patriarchal mating ritual,” he said, almost sheepishly.

She hummed in acknowledgement, watching two birds chase each other through the trees across the lake. They were two cardinals, bright red against the muted greenish brown landscape.

“I just didn’t want you to have to spend a picnic with a baseball player. They’re mindless,” he joked, tilting his head at her. “Does that make you feel any better?”

“Marginally.” She smiled, taking another deep breath of the fresh air. She tugged her black corduroy jacket a little tighter around herself, clearing her throat and stealing a glance at Jess. “Y’know, you could be like this all the time if you tried.”

“Like what?”

“Not a dick,” she said bluntly, raising her eyebrows.

Jess laughed evasively. “Well, I’m glad you see me in such a positive light.”

“Look, I’m not trying to…” she trailed off, sensing his discomfort. “One day, you’re beating the hell out of Peter Smith and torturing Luke. And then, you’re buying my basket to rescue me from a stale afternoon with the Stars Hollow High catcher. You’re getting to be quite an inconsistent jackass. It’s just...curiouser and curiouser.”

Scoffing, he tossed her a knowing look, the backhanded insult rolling off him like water. He knew it wasn’t exactly meant as a slight, but more as a question. “Well, I’ve got to keep you on your toes. Y’know, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

A wide grin crossed her face, her hazel eyes lighting up. “I never pegged you as an Alice man.”

“Well, I think we’ve established I’m full of surprises.”

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

As in Debbie Harry

PART FOURTEEN OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: implied sexy times, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 4.2K

Summary: Jess and Ella have a frank discussion, then go see a live performance of some angry music.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Gilmore Girls is often a very sex-negative show. There are many examples of the sex-negative narrative through the series, such as when Lorelai implies Paris is “the bad kid” for losing her virginity, or when Lane gets pregnant with twins the first time she has sex with Zach. In “Keg! Max!” Jess tries to pressure Rory into having sex while in a bedroom upstairs during Kyle’s party. In my opinion, that scene seemed a very clumsy (and, honestly, out of character) attempt to convey Jess’s inward situation outwardly without using words. It is a very difficult scene to watch and it is Jess’s worst moment in the whole series by far. With this chapter of my AU, I am in no way trying to trivialize that scene or be an apologist for that kind of behavior. It’s unacceptable in every way. Consent is extremely important, and should be clearly given by everyone involved each time they have sex.

Instead, I wanted to create a more positive representation of teen sex. Sex is a normal part of life, and people should not be shamed for having it. I wanted the conversation between Jess and Eleanor to be realistic and beneficial. And I wanted the morning after to be positive too. I wanted it to be clear that they both gave consent during the initial conversation and right before they actually had sex (because giving consent once does not mean giving consent forever). I wanted them to be safe and comfortable. I wanted them to make an effort to communicate with each other. Also, I personally think the show has a detrimental attitude towards virginity, especially considering how much slut-shaming there is, the incident with Paris being only one example. Virginity, in my view, is just a social construct, but that’s a conversation for another time.

In my AU, Jess does not pressure anyone into sex, and he never would. It’s monumentally problematic of Gilmore Girls to brush off the incident in “Keg! Max!” the way it does, so I wanted to make sure I addressed it before any sex happened in this story. It’s important to recognize problems in our favorite content and learn from them. So, I hope this chapter sends a better message about teenage sex and consent. And I hope I got my ideas across in this note. Please feel free to message me any time if you are going through something, want to talk, or anything else. I am always here. You can learn more about consent and find resources for sexual assault survivors here.

Legs crossed, warming both her hands with the to-go cup of tea from Luke’s, Ella listened intently as Lane gushed about Dave Rygalski. They sat in the gazebo, school bags forgotten on the old wood below them. Stars Hollow High was finally closed for fall break, a whole week off to celebrate Thanksgiving and prepare for the odd, torturous month until the sweet release of winter break as well. Lane was thinking out loud, trying to formulate a plan to get Dave to her house on Thanksgiving. Schemes involving classical Biblical guitar and stuffy outfits were being discussed when Rory finally arrived from the bus stop, binders in her hand and her Chilton skirt hitting her knees as she walked.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite Catholic school girl!” Ella called as Rory ascended the steps.

Rory scoffed. “It wasn’t funny two years ago, and it’s not funny now.”

“Humor is subjective.”

“Not in this case. You’ve reached an objective lack of humor.”

“Hey, not even Rory Gilmore can bend such universal rules,” Ella shrugged, smirking. Rolling her eyes, Rory plopped down between her two friends and blew out a tired breath, a tight squeeze on the small bench.

“Man, that boyfriend of yours is a bad influence. The heightened snark makes the two of you such a sorry lot,” Lane said.

Ella’s wicked grin only widened. “The snark existed well before Jess came along. I think it’s more my old age that’s making me bitter.” She paused, taking another sip. “Really Rory, I could paint your shoes. Your mom could hem your skirt. I think it’s time to make waves in the antiquated dress code community.”

“Expulsion’s just what I need six months before graduation,” Rory grumbled, digging around in her yellow backpack for her pager. There were fourteen messages from Dean. She let out a frustrated growl.

“Dirk Squarejaw again?” Ella asked, sympathetic.

Nodding, Rory sighed and put her head to Ella’s shoulder. “He just won’t shut up about that kiss with Tristan. I swear this all would’ve been easier if he’d ended up actually going to military school.”

“What do you say we throw off our men and just ride off together, Thelma?” Ella said, uttering a dreamy exhale.

“If only, Louise.”

Clearing her throat, Lane nudged Rory with an elbow and raised offended eyebrows.

“And, once you snag Dave, you’ll be part of the feminist killjoy club, too,” Ella said pointedly, smirking.

“You’ve been listening to too much Bikini Kill,” Lane said, cracking a smile.

“No such thing,” Ella retorted. “Revolution girl style now, baby.”

The three of them descended into a sprawling conversation of Thanksgiving plans, along with a rather colorful anecdote involving Rory’s Chilton frenemy Paris. No matter how exuberant she sounded, Ella couldn’t help but think she would get along well with Ms. Geller. A pleasant tingling had spread within Ella since leaving school, the bell finally chiming in seventh period trigonometry. The feeling always came along with breaks, and it was nice to be with Rory and Lane, chatting in their familiar, breezy way. Everyone was growing older, getting busier, getting boyfriends; it was rare the three musketeers got a true moment to themselves. Eventually, Lane had to go to Bible study, eager to get in good graces with her mother, to allow Dave to provide a musical holiday accompaniment.

Autumn brought early nightfall, and the light was just beginning to wane when a decrepit AMC Ambassador screeched to a halt in front of the diner. And Ella found herself not even surprised when Jess stepped out of the driver’s side, the keyring around his finger. A smirk crossed her lips and she scoffed a little, looking over at Rory, who shot her a suspicious glance.

“He’s back behind the wheel, huh?” Rory asked.

Ella’s face fell a little. “Oh, jeez, I’m sorry-”

Waving a dismissive hand, Rory only shrugged. “That accident wasn’t his fault.”

Letting out a breath of relief, Ella gave Rory a side-hug and another grin. “You’re the best, Gilmore.”

“Second only to you, Ella.”

Glancing over at Jess, Ella rolled her eyes. He leaned against the car, gazing at her. His hands shoved in his pockets, hair gelled up, a leather jacket over his Clash t-shirt. A blush almost rose to her face at the sight of him, but she bit the inside of her cheek and smirked wider instead.

“You need something, Mariano?” she called smugly, and Rory chuckled at her side.

Jess shrugged. “Just didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Oh, how polite of you,” she shot back, then looked over at Rory in askance. The brunette nodded and gave her one last hug.

“Lunch tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Ella replied, gathering up her stuff and shaking her head in disbelief as she approached the car, and the boy next to it. “Where’d you get the rust bucket, Mariano?”

“Whatever, soccer mom,” he retorted.

She narrowed her eyes at the insult to her station wagon. “You’re on thin ice. Where’d you even find this?”

“Gypsy sold it to me. Not so pretty, but I got a good deal.”

She nodded, placing her hands on the back of his neck and lacing her fingers together. His arms came to rest around her waist. Ella glanced back around him to the car. “Ah, I wouldn’t write her off too quick. She’s got good bones.”

“Wait to look on the bright side, blondie,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“As in my hair or as in Debbie Harry?” she asked, expectant. “There is a right answer.”

Jess snorted. “Debbie Harry. How could you even ask?”

“Just checking,” she smiled, pressing her lips to his. For a moment, she was caught up, and the kiss deepened. But then she remembered they were still standing in the center of town, and she pulled away as her cheeks heated up.

Jess chuckled at her blush as she took a step back and cleared her throat, running a hand through her loose hair self-consciously.

“Shut up, James Dean” she warned playfully, narrowing her eyes. “With this car? I think you’ve reached caricature status in public opinion.”

“Don’t type-cast me.”

She continued despite his mock defense, ruffling his gelled mess of waves. “You’ve even got the hair to match.”

Rolling his eyes, he swatted her hand away and pouted, trying to fix his look. “Just for that, I’m not letting you pick the music. And I’m not telling you what we’re doing for our surprise date tomorrow night.”

“What? I wasn’t aware the stakes were so high!”

Jess rolled his eyes again.

Before she could do any more damage to his cool exterior, he retreated back into his driver’s seat. Laughing wickedly, she came around to the passenger side and threw her bag in the back.

“I think it’d be perfectly fine for the date not to be a surprise. Where are we going?” she asked, hoping to lure it out of him.

“Somewhere,” he replied flatly, not phased.

Smiling wider at his secrecy, she threw a glance at the diner over her shoulder as he rolled away from town center. Punk blasted through the radio, and she turned it down just slightly so they could hear each other. Jess shot her a teasing glare, but said nothing about it.

“Y’know,” she said, “I’ve worked at Luke’s for three years and in all that time combined I didn’t make enough money to buy a car.”

“And what are you implying?” he asked, feigning innocence.

Ella only scoffed, taking his free hand in hers. She could feel the scar, where they’d pulled out the stitches.

.   .   .

Nowhere. It had been a long drive to nowhere in his car. But, Ella supposed, nowhere could be a kind of somewhere, anywhere. Eventually, though, they’d made it to Hartford and Jess turned back. The frigid sky was darkening to a deep, late autumn blue, and Luke was adding him to a Saturday night at the diner every time he came home past midnight. Upon arriving back in Stars Hollow, it was around ten, the shops were closed, but Jess didn’t want their time to end. Away from town, he felt lighter, easier. Everyone wasn’t watching him. Ella wasn’t the doe-eyed princess like Rory, and she didn’t have overbearing parents like Lane, but the townspeople still looked at him with plenty suspicious eyes when they walked hand-in-hand out in public.

Instead of Luke’s, where watchful figures persisted, they landed in Ella’s bedroom. He felt his muscles relax at the scent of lavender, sitting on her bed and leaning his back against the muraled wall. She laid next to him, shoes off but still fully clothed, atop the knit blanket. Joni Mitchell played a mournful tune over her turntable. Her candles were alight, and Jess would have felt sleepy if it weren’t for the book in his hands. Jess devoured A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, another gloomy tale (shocking) Ella had given him. She said she always read it around Christmastime, and he was beginning to see at least once reason for her Grinchy tendencies. And Ella held Anna Karenina in front of her. It was not her first foray into the Russians, but she had never been too thrilled with them. Jess seemed to believe this one would win her over. A few chapters in, and she doubted it.

“Jess?” she asked as the clock ticked nearer to eleven.

“Hm?”

“Are we gonna have sex?”

Choking for a second in surprise, Jess cleared his throat. He scoffed out a chuckle. “What, like, now?”

Ella laughed, shoving his arm playfully. She sat up and faced him, flushed and anxious, though her voice was even. “No. For one, my dad’s still awake. But, I just mean...we do pretty much everything up to having sex, but we’ve never had sex. We’ve been together for almost three months. I just figured we should talk about it.”

Shutting his book, Jess crossed his arms over his chest. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a talent for subtlety?”

She rolled her eyes. “My bluntness is at least half my charm.”

“‘Charm’ is a pretty strong word.”

Launching a teasing pillow at his face, Ella giggled. “I’m trying to be serious here, Mariano.”

“Okay, sorry. Go on.”

“Okay. So...sex.”

He bit his lip to fight off a smirk. “Yes?”

“Well, have you had sex?” she asked.

“Yeah. There was one girl back in New York. Tara. She was nice, I guess. But it wasn’t a Nora Ephron type deal or anything.”

“You like Nora Ephron?” she interrupted, brows furrowed. Not incredulous, only perplexed.

He narrowed his eyes momentarily but ignored the interjection. “I dated her when I was a freshman and then she moved to Albany. Then, your best friend Shane-”

“Fuck off.”

“Not a chance. But, the answer is yes.” Then, after a pause, he furrowed his brows. It occurred to him what a gray area that part of her past was to him. “Have you?”

She nodded. “Hm-mm. A couple times.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling shyly at the way he tilted his head. There was no judgement in his voice. “Right after my mom died, I went to a couple parties...Well, not parties. They were more like get-togethers. Anyway, I got super stoned. This kid Brian smoked with me and we just sorta…did it. There were a couple more parties that year. Rinse. Repeat. Eventually, I started working more and just stopped going.”

“And you never-”

“No, never got together with him,” she answered before he even had to ask. “I never had a ‘relationship’ with anyone. Never had sex with anyone else. It was a good thing, though, I think. Being with him. At the time, I felt so shitty. For just a little while, it made me feel better. He’s a nice kid. Plays for the marching band. Sometimes sex is just sex, y’know?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Jess agreed. “But...with us?”

Running a hand through her hair, Ella felt her insides flutter at the look he gave her. It was almost….open? Not quite, but almost. “Well, do you wanna have sex with me?”

Swallowing dryly, Jess nodded and hoped he didn’t appear as flustered as he felt. “Yeah. Yeah, I do...Do you wanna have sex with me?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding casually. It felt odd, talking so frankly with him. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it was exciting. Would it feel different with a boyfriend? She bet it would.

He cleared his throat, doing his best to hold her hazel gaze. “Good, then. That’s good.”

“I think it is, yeah.”

Bringing a hand to his shoulder, she pulled him in for a short, sweet kiss. And Jess’s heart felt light, relieved. Sometimes, Ella was challenging, she was complicated. But, when it was just the two of them, without all the noise which surrounded their daily lives, it was just so easy. And he could remember no other person he’d ever felt so at home with, who understood him so completely. And when she pulled away, he could still feel the ghost of her lips on his own.

“Alright, I’ve got to finish this chapter,” she said, grabbing her book again and shifting next to him, her back against the mural and her head coming to rest on his shoulder. When she cracked open the pages to her marked place, Jess following suit, she sighed. “This book is excruciating. Why would anyone read this recreationally?”

“You really wanna talk excruciating, Stevens?” he wagered, eyebrows raised as he looked down at her. “Need I remind you of Finnegan’s Wake? And don’t even get me started on this so-called Christmas book.”

“It is a Christmas book,” she argued, gesturing down to the Betty Smith novel in his hands.

Jess shook his head. “Just because Christmas happens in a story doesn’t make it a Christmas story. This is the Godfather debate all over again.”

She sighed once more. “You're never gonna convince me The Godfather isn’t a Christmas movie. Give it up, James Dean.”

“Only like fifteen minutes of that movie takes place at Christmas, my god, how many times-”

.   .   .

Just before official closing, Luke came back from Doose’s with supplies for Thanksgiving to stock the back room. The diner was to stay open on Thursday, and Luke would feed traditional turkey dinner to whoever stepped through the door. The past two years, Ella had worked all day, eating with Luke, Lorelai, and Rory during down times. The year before, she’d also gone to her aunt’s house following her shift to see the kids. But, with Fiona moved in and engaged to her father, the obligations had changed drastically. She was still working the morning shift, but was due home no later than two. Her older brother was coming, along with her aunt, her aunt’s husband, and her nieces.

Cleaning the counter with lemony disinfectant, she watched her boss trudge through the diner with heavy bags to the stockroom. Luke declined her offer to help carry things, as she had known he would. Instead, she was to keep closing.  The clock ticked rhythmically on the wall, and the anxiety for the approaching holiday mixed in her stomach with excitement and pleasant nerves for what the evening was to hold. Jess had slipped out the door around lunch time with the blue vest in the pocket of his leather jacket, telling her he’d be back around nine. And he still wouldn’t budge and tell her where they were going for their ‘secret date.’ But it wasn’t as though she didn’t know why. He hadn’t been able to treat her during their first date, and every date since had been more of a casual hang-out, or a mutually-arranged affair. He still wanted to show her what was, in his opinion, the first date she deserved. So, she wouldn’t argue too much. When the bell over the door sounded, Ella smirked before she even looked up to see him.

“Ready to spill your guts, James Dean?” she asked immediately as he came and sat at the counter in front of her.

Jess scoffed. “Eager much?”

“Jackass much?”

He rolled his eyes. “Are you almost done?”

Nodding, Ella threw the rag in her hand into the dirty bin below the counter. She could hear Luke rummaging around in the back still.

“Hey Luke?” she called.

He came out with his hands on his hips, baseball cap in its rightful place as always. “Yeah?”

“I’m finished out here. Alright if I clock out?” she asked.

Luke eyed his nephew suspiciously, who looked back at him with his usual smug smirk. “Only if Walmart’s favorite stock boy doesn’t keep you out too late.”

The expression fell on Jess’s face and was replaced with furrowed brows, mouth set in a thin line. He’d managed quite a many few months keeping the secret from Luke, until he’d got his car. It was only after Luke accused him of prostitution that he finally came clean. And the teasing had been relentless ever since.

“Don’t worry,” Ella said, smiling as she went to the kitchen to clock out and hang her apron.

With Ella out of the room, Luke pointed a finger at his nephew and took on an accusatory stance. “No drinking, no smoking, no-”

“No drugs, no five-dollar street corner sex, I got it,” Jess interrupted begrudgingly.

Luke grunted in annoyance and rolled his eyes, but said nothing more as he went around to the cash register and started to close it out. Emerging from the back, Ella smoothed her hands over her simple black dress, then pulled her sleeves down over her hands nervously. Suddenly, she wondered if she wasn’t dressed for wherever they were going. She wished she had asked earlier.

“Okay, time to spit it out,” she said, rounding the corner of the counter and grabbing his hand to pull him up. They walked towards the door and she donned her peacoat, taking her shoulder bag, emptier than normal without all the school contents.

Jess smirked. “But what if a blindfold is part of the plan?”

“No fucking way.”

“Hey!” Luke piped up from the register at her language. The attempt at scolding was half-hearted, though.

Rolling her eyes with good nature, Ella followed Jess out the door. “Sorry. Night, boss.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke said with a small smile, waving a dismissive hand at the two kids.

Once outside, Ella could see her breath in the night and she was glad she’d worn her thick black tights. Her Doc Martens crunched the orangey piles of dry leaves noisily as they descended the front steps and made their way across the street to Jess’s car. Before they could get in, though, Jess stopped in his tracks and turned to her, leaning against the car doors.

“I’m waiting,” she teased, eyebrows raised impatiently.

After reaching in his pocket momentarily, Jess went to tuck a strand of hair which had fallen from her low bun behind her ear. Then, he revealed a set of ear plugs in his hand, and Ella’s brow furrowed though her smile widened in nostalgia.

“What’s up, Houdini?”

“Figured you might need these. Since we’re going to see the Distillers and all.”

“Are we?” she asked, taking the earplugs from him.

Nodding, Jess brought the tickets from his pocket and held them up for her to see. She broke out in a grin.

“Not bad, Mariano.”

“Yeah, I know you’re more into melancholia, but you were listening to my CD the other week. So, when I saw they were coming to Harford, I figured...” he trailed off humbly, shrugging. “And we’ve been together almost three months and I still haven’t seen those famous Eleanor Stevens dance moves.”

She chuckled, flushing slightly. He could smell her rosemary scent as she leaned closer and rested her hands on the back of his neck. “Don’t know if you’re ready for that. They’re deadly.”

“In more ways than one I’ve heard,” he quipped.

“Shut up,” she said. “This is awesome, Jess. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

And she brought him in for a kiss, smiling into it. Jess could feel his shoulders release their tension. He hadn’t known if she’d be happy. They were one of his favorite bands, and he’d heard rumors of their coming to town when she’d chosen them as her angry music weeks earlier. Though he wasn’t big on signs, he thought maybe the universe was telling him to share the experience with her. Let her in. It didn’t make him any less nervous, though. It was always there in the back of her mind, that worry she would realize what everyone else in the town already had. That he wasn’t good enough for her. But as he felt her hands in his hair, warmed by her touch in the cold November air, he couldn’t help but forget his fears for just a moment.

.   .   .

Mid-morning light streamed through the small window into Ella’s cramped bedroom. Her cacti sat on the dresser, soaking up the sunshine, as Jess and Ella slept soundly on the mattress. Wearing a big KISS t-shirt, Ella turned over in her sleep and faced Jess, his arm draped over her tightening slightly. A shirtless Jess lay beneath the whitish blanket next to her, snoring softly. His jeans and t-shirt were strewn near the bed, along with Ella’s dress. Still pumped full of adrenaline after the concert, Ella had crept through the house the night before to make sure everyone was asleep, then snuck Jess through her window. And their first time together was even better than she’d imagined. Sweet and a little awkward and wonderful, reminding her almost of their first kiss months before. And, afterwards, they’d stayed up talking for hours, with a fair amount of teasing from Jess over the t-shirt she’d decided to wear to bed. KISS was perhaps her biggest guilty pleasure.

Upon a soft knocking on Ella’s creaky white door, Jess began to stir. He cleared his throat and rubbed at his tired eyes before fully waking, becoming aware of his surroundings. Then, a voice came from the hallway outside.

“Ella? Fiona wants to take us to Doose’s to get Thanksgiving stuff!”

Sitting up slightly, Jess saw Ella was still deep asleep.

“Elle? Wake up,” he said, shaking her shoulder gently. It took at least thirty seconds before her eyes finally fluttered open.

“Hm?”

“You gotta wake up. Someone’s at your door,” he said quietly, hastily. Another knock sounded on the wood, and Jess glanced up, biting his lip.

Taking in a sharp breath, Ella nodded and her hazy eyes blinked harshly awake. The knocking on the door was persistent now, and her brother called her name a couple more times. She gestured for Jess to move to the corner near the dresser, out of view of the door, as she rushed over to open it. Poking her head out, she kept the door almost shut so only her face could be seen.

“God, Adam, knock louder, would you?” she snapped tiredly.

Adam took a step back at her irritated tone, squinting behind his glasses at her behavior. “It’s not my fault you’re too lazy to get up on time.”

“Didn’t realize we had an appointment scheduled,” Ella shrugged, trying to make her tone lighter.

Shrugging back, Adam began to walk off. “We’re leaving for Doose’s in fifteen.”

“Fine,” she grumbled, shutting the door loudly as he walked away.

“Wow, you’re not a morning person,” Jess remarked, a sardonic twinkle in his eye as he spoke from behind her. When she looked back, he was almost fully dressed already, buckling up his belt. “I gotta get back. Luke’s gonna be pissed.”

“Oh, fuck, you’re right,” Ella sighed, running a hand through her messy locks. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought about it sooner. Sometimes Jess seemed so independent, so out on his own, she forgot how much Luke had invested in taking care of him.

Jess only shrugged. “My fault. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’ll tell him I was reading at the lake and just dozed off.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she said immediately, shaking her head.

He came over to her and put an arm around her waist, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “It’s fine. He’ll be less mad at both of us. Win-win.”

“You think he’ll buy it?” she asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“I have my ways.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, whatever, James Dean.”

Chuckling, he pecked her lips and took one long look at her. Before he could help it, or worry about feeling stupid, he smiled down at her. Crooked and sincere. And Ella smiled back.

“I had a good time,” she said.

Jess nodded in agreement. “Me too. The best of times.”

Sighing lightly, she rolled her eyes. “How do you always manage to bring up Dickens?”

“It’s a gift and a curse.”

And even after he pressed one final kiss to her lips, disappearing out the window and down the street, she couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off her face.