OH MY GOD YOU GUYS. LOOK AT WHAT I FOUND.
Ladies and other ladies, I present to you: one of the first pieces of fanfiction I ever wrote. Sitting unnoticed on my computer, I give you the Emily Gilmore epic I wrote in, AT THE VERY LATEST, 2004. NO, REALLY. I remember when my mom came up to the spare bedroom which housed the giant Compaq desktop that served as the family computer at the time, and I was writing this, and she was like, "What're you doing?" and I was like, "Nothing," and she was like, "No, tell me," and I was like, "No seriously, NOTHING," and she was like, "TELL ME NOW," and I did and she walked away and never asked me what I was doing again. She doesn't get it, man. Men. Women. Ladies. (I'm almost giddy in the discovery of this ... monstrosity. It's not so much that it's bad, even though it's not great, it's just that it's ... so long. And so old. And so ... "Gilmore Girls.")
So. Yeah. Read ahead, if you dare. It's, like, 7000 words long. NO REALLY. I'm leaving the information section the way I originally had it written, as well as all the formatting, because really, guys: look how I spelled my name then. And the asterisks? COME ON, GUYS.
Title: Portrait of a Lady
Author: All Things Holy
Rating: PG
Character: Emily-centric
Feedback: Why yes, I’d love some.
Disclaimer: I love the characters, but alas, it was not fated to be so. And, obviously, the title belongs to Henry James.
Summary: "There were things you didn’t do, like live a life that was yours."
Spoilers: General, Seasons One through Four
A/N: This is set post-season four, with Rory and Emily taking the trip to Europe. It’s set at the end of the trip, I suppose, if it has to be set anywhere at all. And the Richard and any accidental magnificence in the story are entirely due to LulaBo, who held my hand through this entire thing and didn’t complain about the sweaty palms. A million thanks, love.
***
( When she was in school, she was told that women behaved a certain way and led a certain kind of life. Back when she was Emily Stratton, when she was naïve and wanting a husband was all she knew to want. Back when ‘proper’ was taken to extremes, when girls never approached boys and never really decided for themselves. There were things you didn’t do, like swear or drink or be unconventional in any way. )
Ladies and other ladies, I present to you: one of the first pieces of fanfiction I ever wrote. Sitting unnoticed on my computer, I give you the Emily Gilmore epic I wrote in, AT THE VERY LATEST, 2004. NO, REALLY. I remember when my mom came up to the spare bedroom which housed the giant Compaq desktop that served as the family computer at the time, and I was writing this, and she was like, "What're you doing?" and I was like, "Nothing," and she was like, "No, tell me," and I was like, "No seriously, NOTHING," and she was like, "TELL ME NOW," and I did and she walked away and never asked me what I was doing again. She doesn't get it, man. Men. Women. Ladies. (I'm almost giddy in the discovery of this ... monstrosity. It's not so much that it's bad, even though it's not great, it's just that it's ... so long. And so old. And so ... "Gilmore Girls.")
So. Yeah. Read ahead, if you dare. It's, like, 7000 words long. NO REALLY. I'm leaving the information section the way I originally had it written, as well as all the formatting, because really, guys: look how I spelled my name then. And the asterisks? COME ON, GUYS.
Title: Portrait of a Lady
Author: All Things Holy
Rating: PG
Character: Emily-centric
Feedback: Why yes, I’d love some.
Disclaimer: I love the characters, but alas, it was not fated to be so. And, obviously, the title belongs to Henry James.
Summary: "There were things you didn’t do, like live a life that was yours."
Spoilers: General, Seasons One through Four
A/N: This is set post-season four, with Rory and Emily taking the trip to Europe. It’s set at the end of the trip, I suppose, if it has to be set anywhere at all. And the Richard and any accidental magnificence in the story are entirely due to LulaBo, who held my hand through this entire thing and didn’t complain about the sweaty palms. A million thanks, love.
***
( When she was in school, she was told that women behaved a certain way and led a certain kind of life. Back when she was Emily Stratton, when she was naïve and wanting a husband was all she knew to want. Back when ‘proper’ was taken to extremes, when girls never approached boys and never really decided for themselves. There were things you didn’t do, like swear or drink or be unconventional in any way. )