the Dalaverse

So...I got this bunny this morning. I don;t know how to explain it. "Gilmore Girls," one-sided Rory/Paris, right after "To Live and Let Diorama" (even though I kind of liked how this week's ep turned out). Very short. Title from Remy Zero.



Paris came back to the Gilmore house after a little girl called her a scary hobo lady and she stepped on a half-eaten Tootsie Roll pop. She entered without knocking, but quietly, which she felt was very considerate because she wanted nothing more than to snap and shriek and slam the door. Lorelai was asleep on the couch, her head back against the arm, knees and chin pointing to Rory’s open door. Paris took a detour into the kitchen to prop her feet one at a time on the sink and sluice away the stickiness and grime, then padded across the living room.

“Hey,” she said in a dull, watery tone to Rory curled up at the head of the bed.

Rory rubbed at her nose, the color of which was well-matched to her blotchy cheeks and reddened eyes. Leave it to Rory Gilmore to accessorize heartbreak, though secretly Paris was glad that Rory looked as raw and run-over as she herself felt.

She wandered over to the desk, feeling weird and not knowing where to stand or what to do with her hands. Lane would know what to do. Lane would probably hop right in next to Rory and cuddle her and call Logan fifteen versions of jackass, but Paris couldn’t do that, because –

Rory sniffled, hiding her face in her knees. Paris took a breath to steady herself, nodded once, and slid beneath the rumpled covers before she had the chance to chicken out. Rory blinked in surprise and her shoulders went a little taut.

“Your town is full of rude, unfeeling cretins,” Paris informed her, flinging her head back on the pillow.

“Nobody gave you any spare change, huh?” Rory slowly uncurled, long legs stretching out beside Paris’s own. “But we sure know how to party. Or at least Miss Patty thinks we do.”

Paris made a face at the reminder. A loose, sweat-stiff strand of hair, possibly still vomit-scented, fell over her ear and Rory reached up to brush it back. A girl thing to do, a girlfriend thing to do, the last thing Paris would’ve thought of, and it made something in her stomach clench worse than the last of the heaves.

“Did you wash your feet?” Rory wanted to know, her voice sleepy and teasing. She kicked Paris gently beneath the covers.

Paris wasn’t a natural at this whole fuzzy female commiserating thing, but she was nothing if not a quick learner. She laid her arm cautiously over Rory’s waist, emboldened when Rory didn’t demand to know what she was doing, only sighed and snuggled closer. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. Maybe I turned over a dumpster and did the Charleston through old chow mein and baby diapers.”

“Ewww,” Rory said, and the lack of clever retort was how Paris knew she was more asleep than awake. She nuzzled Paris’s shoulder and added, “This sucks.”

“Astute of you,” Paris replied, flattening her hand at the small of Rory’s back and yawning. “Guys are stupid.”

“Yeah,” Rory agreed, and just like that, she was out cold.

Paris waited until she heard a snoring, wheezy, stuffed-up sound coming from the girl in her arms. Only then did she dare to press her lips to the top of Rory’s head.

“Sometimes girls are stupid too,” she muttered into the tangled brown hair.


Regarding "Veronica Mars" and all the gay Navy jokes: how do they get away with this stuff? I mean, the rim job joke was one thing, but do the censors just sleep through the dailies of VM? I LOVE it.

Mmmm, Weevil arms.