( hunter schafer / trans woman / she/her / caper ) did you just see STELLA EKLUND MADDOX walking through the halls? they’re a TWENTY-TWO year-old THIRD YEAR ECONOMICS & PHILOSOPHY student from OSLO, NORWAY. rumour has it they’ve been a member of praeditus since they were in their SECOND YEAR. i’ve heard they have a tendency to be RESTLESS AND HEDONISTIC, but ALLURING AND INSIGHTFUL, too. well, anyway, you’ll know if you spot STELLA again because they always seem to remind me of THE THRUM OF THE BASS IN YOUR BODY AT THE CLUB, WIND HOWLING ON THE CLIFFS AT NIGHT, THE TOO-SHORT DISTANCE BETWEEN A SHATTERED MIRROR AND A DISCO BALL, HANDS PERPETUALLY A LITTLE TOO COLD.
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stats.
full name. stella lucia eklund maddox
d.o.b. october 26, 2000
height. 5’11” / 180cm
zodiac. scorpio sun, libra moon, taurus ascendant
gender. nonbinary trans woman
sexuality. queer - primarily into women
nationality. norwegian
languages. fluent in norwegian, english, & french; conversational in swedish, german & italian. speaks just enough spanish to order food without embarrassing herself.
voiceclaim. norwegian actress ane dahl torp ( ref )
religion. raised lutheran (non-observant), now self-identifies as agnostic.
traits. alluring, expressive, insightful, passionate, restless, reactive, blunt, hedonistic.
persona.
she’s really an old school manic pixie dream girl: eclectic and sort of odd with a side of trauma and emotional detachment that comes across as ‘mysterious’ and/or ‘weird’ to strangers; think holly golightly, clementine kruczynski, and stargirl (from the jerry spinelli novel).
her side business is more about occupying the social role of ‘the dealer’ than anything else - she doesn’t care about being universally liked or admired, but it opens doors with her classmates and keeps her grades up (thanks laurel), and the cash flow gives her a way to spend money that her father isn’t monitoring. dealing also serves as a way to distance herself from her aunt in the eyes of her peers, which is kind of a tall order when they look so similar.
her approach to academics (and life in general, really) is that she’ll only spend time on things that interest her. those things do not include math, which as an econ major is somewhat unfortunate, or any subject taught by a professor she dislikes. it’s no secret that her motto is “life is too short to do stuff that sucks.”
speaking of professors she dislikes, stella hated dupont. she took one of his classes for a general requirement when she first arrived and, after he seized an opportunity to humiliate her in front of everyone, vowed to pass the course with flying colors and never cross paths with him again. she mostly succeeded, until he got the dirt he needed to drag her into praeditus, and she’s spent the duration of their relationship avoiding him as much as he would let her.
trivia.
the name stella came from her mother's pet name for her in childhood: superstar. lucia was her grandmother's contribution, and stella herself chose to take the maddox surname in addition to eklund when eleanor gifted her a legal name change for her seventeenth birthday.
even if they didn’t have the same last name, stella wouldn’t be able to escape the nepotism allegations bc of how much she resembles her aunt.
for quite a while after she first arrived in norway, eleanor was a popular topic of conversation in the country’s media and was sometimes referred to as “norway’s princess diana” for her investments in local philanthropic causes.
stella is an only child but her father has two younger brothers who each have several children, plus her mom had two older brothers and they both have kids, so all told she's got about a dozen first cousins.
the maddox family isn’t super rich, but they're definitely not poor either - grandpa maddox is a retired doctor, all of his kids went to good schools, and in addition to eleanor marrying into norway’s richest family & victoria becoming dean of meraviglia, his two sons own and operate a successful accounting firm together in cardiff.
besides purchases she wants to keep off the books, the money stella makes dealing drugs mostly goes to the locals; the middle-aged woman who cleans her apartment gets tipped generously, as do delivery drivers, waitstaff, and the shampoo girl at her favorite salon.
she might be 5’11” in sock feet, but all her favorite shoes have heels or platforms so she routinely stands 6’1” or taller ✨
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tallie disappears into her closet to grab the causes of her fashion dilemma as she listens to stella. she's a multitasker. she sets the pairs of pants on the bed and hums in response, "i'm honored. i'm going to change our group chat name to 'ghost hunters' just to see how confused fitz gets." she sits on the edge of the bed, eyes flicking over the blonde with a bit of apprehension, "so you didn't hear about what happened to emilia after our search then? the email?" her voice is an octave lower than usual, as if she's sharing a secret but not trying too hard to hide it. tallie lets out a sigh, rolling her tongue over the inside of her cheek, "i think the book being gone might actually fuck us all over, stel." she admits. tallie doesn't get scared or anxious, it's not her thing, but now? it's hard not to be. it's hard for her to hide the traces of apprehension that spread over her features.
draping herself across the nearest soft surface, stella sprawls out and makes herself at home. might as well get comfortable for this, right? tallie seems to feel the same, and despite her crack about the group chat, her hands stay where they are as she breaks into the inevitable question. “i was joking, lulu, of course i got the email.” got it in the middle of a late dinner with her aunt, as a matter of fact, marking the first time stella’s ever been grateful for the‘no phones’ rule at their weekly meeting — she hadn’t actually read the threatening message until she was alone.
the moment plays out again in her mind, the sinking feeling like swallowing a stone as she realized what this meant, the brief flash of heated admiration for emilia’s apparent boldness in the midst of cataloguing everything she stood to lose. stella blinks, falls back into the present, and looks over at tallie with an almost nonchalant smile.
“lulu baby, unless you put that knife in ducunt’s back yourself, none of you are going down as hard as i am.” she’d been up until sunrise thinking about it, going over the numbers in her head, and by now she’s almost numb to it: twenty years in prison, disowned and alone, probably not even in her home country. it's too much to process so why bother trying, right?
“whatever’s in that book about you, i’m willing to bet it doesn’t involve multiple felonies.”
even before having been at meraviglia and a member of praeditus, richard knew stella — knew her better than he sometimes wished. they'd met by accident in a club somewhere in paris, having taken a quick liking to one another (and to one another's habits). whenever others would tap out for the night, it always seemed like stella was the only person who was willing to keep raising hell with him far into the early hours of the morning. with them, it was always one more round, one more line, one more hit, one more dance — until they woke up with no idea how they'd ended up where they were, appearances haggard with headaches to match. it had all come crashing down when the tabloids, who were constantly hanging on richard's every move, caught a photo of him pinning her against a wall in a manner that was nothing less than explicit. their party days came to a screeching halt after that; that is, until praeditus and stella's newfound side gig as a dealer reconnected them at meraviglia. now, he always senses a fair amount of... contempt directed at him whenever she looks at him. contempt that he can't place. but so be it; she's got the best shit around, so richard remains a loyal customer.
"god, menthol, really? are you a sadist? do you have no class whatsoever?" richard chides as he sits, though he takes a cigarette from the pack all the same. "got a lighter?" typically, he doesn't bother stella outside of praeditus meetings or their arranged deals, but he's still in disbelief over dupont's death; the rapidly approaching funeral has him unknowingly leaning into the uncertainty of his interactions with the other members of the group. now that their leader is dead, where do they go from here?
once upon a time, richard’s face would have been a welcome sight, a portent of pleasure to come; they were never in love, though sometimes she’d claimed to be while under the influence of molly or tequila, but they’d had fun together. a little too much fun, according to some people, and that had been the end of it until the party prince of paris came prancing back into her life as a fellow student at meraviglia. it hadn’t taken long after that to realize what a prick he really was, and after that stella had done her best to avoid him — a feat made that much more difficult by dupont and his stupid club, another reason to be glad the bastard is dead — but today she doesn’t feel like fighting. there’s too much on her mind, too much at stake to waste energy on hating him, so stella just passes him the lighter and takes a long drag of her own cigarette, exhaling slowly into the silence and watching the smoke spin in the evening light.
“you of all people should know how little i care what others think is ‘classy’,” she retorts, still not looking over at where richard is sitting a little too close for comfort. “and i was trying to smoke in peace, but clearly you have no intention of allowing that.” the bitterness that creeps into her voice is unconscious but unmistakable, her soured feelings refusing to be disguised by courtesy.
“why, are you worried about me? careful, someone might think you give a shit about someone besides yourself.”
as the dean’s goddaughter, her presence at the funeral is apparently required; they’d had a terse conversation about it over dinner on monday, and stella had spent the week trying to figure out what specific cocktail of substances might make the event bearable without drawing unwanted attention. in the end she’d settled on a xanax and a cigarette before the service and a rolling kit in her bag for the reception. she drifts through the procession and the eulogy in an almost meditative state, but halfway through the third or fourth tearful speech about what an inspiration marcel had been (yuck) stella realizes she’s actually listening and suddenly the end can’t come soon enough.
the moment she’s free she sends a series of texts to fitz, each one a different emoji: 🌿, then 🔔, then ⚡. by this point that’s all either of them need, the smoke break routine familiar enough even when the circumstances are... unusual. the heels of her boots make a satisfying sound on the stone stairs of the campanile - detached from the main body of the church, which is odd but convenient for their purposes - and stella hums along tunelessly to the rhythm as she climbs three, four, five stories to the top.
she’s rolling the second joint when she catches the sound of the door below, someone else’s footsteps echoing up the tower, and when fitz’s face appears stella locks eyes with him while she licks the end of the thin paper to seal it down.
“i was starting to worry i might have to smoke alone,” she jokes, twirling the now finished joint between her fingers before holding it out to him with a flourish.
“did anyone say anything interesting during the first hour or so, or were they all just kissing his ass too?”
though she hasn’t done it (intentionally) in nearly a year, stella could walk the few blocks from her home to mari’s in her sleep. she’s definitely not asleep now, thoughts tumbling over and over each other like balls in a bingo cage; she spends the entire trip turning them over and shoving them back in the cage, hoping for reassurance but finding none. she’s fucked, the whole thing is fucked unless they can figure out who’s after them and how to shut them up before anything actually incriminating gets out.
that’s why she’s here, climbing the loudly protesting stairs to the third floor and knocking on mari’s door before she has time to second-guess herself. she needs all the help she can get, and loathe as she may be to admit it, stella’s known from the start that mari complements her — they’re both smart on their own, but together they’re sherlock and watson, batman and robin, mulder and scully. it’s just the smart choice, coming here. just practical. when the door opens and she sees mari looking up at her, stella forgets what she had planned to say.
“i miss you.”
the words are on the tip of her tongue, but she catches them just in time, shoving them down deep under the rest of her roiling thoughts. after a moment of awkward silence, fingers twitching intermittently at her sides, she tries again.
“heyyyyy... i brought bamsemums.” she fishes a bright red packet out of her bag and holds it out like the peace offering it is. “can i come in?”
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there’s something distinctly uncomfortable about deviating from their usual routine like this; stella’s gotten good at keeping her personal and “professional” lives separate, but under the circumstances... it just made sense, inviting chan over to re-up rather than handing off the goods. for one, he’d requested more than usual (understandable) and for two, she wants to talk to him without having to worry about being overheard. he’d been the one to look into the email, he’s the computer guy, and if anyone knows what she wants to know, it’ll be him. it doesn’t take long for her phone to light up with the intercom notification, and she presses the button to let him in then grabs a pair of glasses from the kitchen and sets them on the coffee table, bar-slash-bong cart already pulled closer in anticipation of their inevitable need to de-stress. she’s already at the door when he knocks, but if chan’s surprised by only having to knock once, he doesn’t show it.
“hey, come on in.” stella’s pretty sure he’s been to her place before, some time last year for something she’d hosted at home, so she assumes he’ll remember to take his shoes off before following her through the archway and into the living room.
"hey!" tallie grinned as she opened her door, letting stella inside, "like i said over text, it's a fashion emergency. and you're the only one i trust to help me on this." as much as she loved gen, they did not have a similar sense of style. and aileen? well, she was avoiding her a pretty much all costs. plus, stella was someone she trusted almost inherently. stella and fitz were always her fist line of defense on most issues. it only made sense. she dragged stella toward her room, "how was your day? see the ghost of good ol' marcy? get any threatening emails from someone who wants to ruin our lives?"
there's a reason tallie is her best girlfriend: the minute stella sees that blinding smile, all the fucked-up shit they're dealing with seems so much less important. there are few things she loves more than spending an afternoon with tallie going through one closet or the other, trading clothes and playing dress-up with each other like she imagines little girls would, styling each other for parties and events, chattering away about everything and nothing — she's been pulled across the threshold of tallie's bedroom before the questions fully register and she remembers why she's actually here.
"please, if i had seen a ghost you and fitzi would be the first to know." stella laughs as if seeing dupont's ghost would be no big deal, ignoring the acid in her throat. "and if by that you mean a homework reminder from doctor carlucci, then i certainly did."
it really hadn’t bothered stella much when dupont went missing. she’d been among those who believed he was simply off on some self-important errand that just couldn’t wait, that he’d be back before long to continue tormenting his students — and when it was announced that his body had been found stella let out a delighted huff of laughter, prompting a sharp glance from her godmother that she had no problem ignoring. why should she respect a man who refused to leave her alone, who loved to provoke her for his own amusement, who had done the same to countless other students? with marcel dead the threat of getting caught dealing and all the repercussions that would follow was gone, or so it seemed, and for a brief moment she’d thought she might be able to properly enjoy being at meraviglia for once.
“fucking trolls,” she mutters under her breath, digging through her bag and sighing with relief when her fingers close around a novelty lighter. it takes a few tries to get her cigarette properly lit, and stella makes a face at the waffle-shaped piece of plastic as if it (and not her nearly numb digits) were to blame. she’s barely gone for a second drag when someone takes a seat beside her on the cool stone bench; when she turns, she’s not particularly surprised to find one of her fellow liars and/or cheaters (really, that was the best this blockedmail bitch could come up with?) there at her elbow.
“cigarette?” the question is reflexive, pack offered up in invitation before they can say anything. “they’re menthol, just so you know.”
stella's airy penthouse is in an older building on the outskirts of the "student district", further from campus (and her aunt's theoretical 'watchful eye') than most of her peers. while she was away for the summer she hired an interior designer as a 'back to school present' for herself, returning to a stylish & feminine space awash with shades of pink ranging from terra cotta to ripe peach to pale blush, with pops of teal green throughout. in her 'study' (the name is intentionally ironic, since she almost never uses it for actual studying), a wall of faux built-in shelves holds her pettiest and most specific request to the designer: all of her books, now with custom dust jackets carefully designed to form a flawless rainbow.
other notable features include the tiled roof terrace, stella's enormous walk-in closet, & the one piece she styled entirely on her own: a bar cart turned bong cart, equipped with all the drug paraphernalia a trust fund college kid could possibly want. oh, and the frequent appearance of nude women among the artwork dotting her walls.
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