imp3ratrix: (Her eyes caught the melody and echoed it)
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Title: To Stir All Night to Selene’s Immortal Song
Category: Gossip Girl
Pairing/Character(s): Tripp/Blair
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Word Count: 399
Spoilers: No
Summary: The heart forever yearns.

Notes: For [livejournal.com profile] morningslugger.


Surrounded by darkness, listless and prone, Blair stares at the moon outside.

There is an odd sense of peace that envelops her as she does so, remnant of another time and another place she has long since forgotten visiting. But the heart forever yearns, more so in the face of adversity and doubt, and so she willingly savours this sample of fragile delight and sliver of blind hope as if they were her last. Sighs, and pretends the mythic sight, and the feelings it evokes, symbolise something – in her warped, childlike mind, where the world constantly revolves around symbols and fairytales.

A symbol for rebirth, for respite, for a long-fought pleasing lull she’s always craved.

That, just maybe, he too has always craved.

Wishful thinking, reason decrees. Like an incessant admonition teetering on the edge of her conscious; a warning against falling into the same trap of quixotic fixation with yet another boy beyond her reach. Though under moon’s light, her mind is turned to shambles, coaxing wistful whims better left confined to shadows.

Not unlike a little girl, tired of seeing her dreams fade, she lifts her hand as if to block out the seamless silver – and the world too – with a simple gesture. The angle, however, proves less than ideal and she finds she has little strength, or care, to move it.

But then her dreams catch up to her, slide in cruelly with reality, and she feels the bed shift as Tripp idly takes her hand into his, leading it to a better position. And with a care reserved only for the finest of china, he slips his fingers into the spaces between hers.

Blair ceases to breathe.

“I could stop it from shining… if you want.”

His words are a whisper, silk against her cheek. Lies, she reasons, for his smile is all too fanciful and his eyes are too hard to read. Breaks her heart in two, these stolen dreams, but she is still young, idealistic and foolish.

I want....

Shattered, resigned – not yet – she lets him hold her, and for a moment, imagines affection gracing his words. His hold. Just for a moment, a hesitant second or two. And a moment is all the time she needs to spin a tale and to begin a new game of pretend, if only for one night.

Blair reaches out to him.

Tripp’s silhouette blocks out the moonlight.



Title: They Lay on a Bed of Crimson Joy
Category: Gossip Girl
Pairing/Character(s): Tripp/Blair
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Word Count: 333
Spoilers: No
Summary: Sometimes, she dreams the inevitable end.

Notes: For [livejournal.com profile] lunaticbabe.


I came, I saw, I conquered.

So said a great man once, moved to vanquish all he sought and to dine on the ensuing spoils as victors aptly do. Inspires still, with his words, millennia after.

Inspires men just as great as he, so blinded by desire and crippled by dreams.

Across lists innumerable, and not even Tripp Vanderbilt – the revered grandson, the genteel one – is spared. Rather, he plays the hand dealt to him with utter finesse, gaze firmly set upon the prize ahead. Relentless, perhaps even ruthless, he takes his winnings and leaves nothing but broken hearts and weary tears in his wake.

Maureen, Serena… both names, both conquests, hang frozen on his wall of honours, waiting for the next in line to join them – a victim of his love.

Just another casualty.

A tragic circle closed, and Blair refuses to play the role.

Denies him, curses him, and fights him. Goes into battle and retreats soon after, scarred and bloodied and imagines his wounds sting, ache, bleed worse than hers. And sometimes, in the bleak aftermath, exhausted by it all, she dreams the inevitable end.

Their demise… bodies poetically laid out side by side, forgotten by the world and left to rot. Though more often than not, they aren’t side by side at all. Rather, they lie entwined in each other’s arms; her head resting against his shoulder, warm breath stirring her hair.

It’s almost as if they are not really dead.

As if there is still time. Time enough for him to brush his lips against her ear, to mouth insignificant promises, troublesome nothings and consoling, repentant phrases over and over again before she realises that her cheeks are wet and her eyes….

Her eyes are burning.

No, it’s all a dream.

A dream, she reminds herself, and a cruel one at that. Nothing but a lie.

For if she had lived, vanquished like all the rest, Blair fears she would have willingly gone to Hell for their sins.



Title: Her Naked Beauty So Adorned, More Lovely than Pandora
Category: Gossip Girl
Pairing/Character(s): William/Blair
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Word Count: 821
Spoilers: No
Summary: This little queen never takes no, only yes, your majesty.

Notes: For [livejournal.com profile] morningslugger. I made sure to finish one of your requests on occasion of this special day. Enjoy, and happy birthday once again!


There is solitude, and there is quietude.

A cessation marred by eventual end, travesties and discord capable of inspiring a thrilling – sickening – thrum in his veins, and visions neither pure nor sane. Visions to be expected, overtly familiar and well practiced, except….

He has a conscience now – he likes to believe. A desire in the right after years of immorality and wrong. In portraying himself as human and real, and not evil incarnate like they, the world and long-gone grandsons would oft believe to be dictations. And yet–

…William….

reflection proves far simpler than practice.

With annoyance and dismay contorting his face, he brings a cigarette to his lips as harsh eyes roam over the prim little thing to have taken up residence on the edge of his desk, source of lullabies and commanding of attention. Commanding of more, always more, and royalty makes her demands.

Shining knights and castles flying through the skies and all the things even he – Vanderbilt, means and ends – can not give.

But this little queen never takes no, only yes, your majesty, and high on her own sense of worth she pursues a different route. Bends her leg, bare thigh exposed like a harlot, and taunts him with the scars of reincarnated sins forged upon every inch and plane of pale-ridden flesh.

Seeking to destroy, seeking to entice, and he will have no more of that.

“A lady ought to conduct herself in a manner befitting her station, my dear. Really, this behaviour is most improper.”

Another lesson?”

“One you would do well to learn.” And respect along with it. “…Or not. I can recall a woman once having decided upon the latter choice.”

“And what happened to her?”

A prolonged interlude follows, curious considerations fester, and lungs are filled to the brim with a numbing drag of poison. Inhale, exhale, and he grants her reply – retaliation – without batting an eye.

“She lost her head.”

The quietude turns deafening.

And throughout it all, Blair considers him. His words – such implicit repartee – and tilts her head bemusedly. He is clever, that she will admit.

But she is clever too. Like him too.

“I know this story, William. There was a man as well,” she begins, lowering herself from the desk.

“A man so enamoured, that no ill or insult she hurled at him tested his affection. No amount of debauchery or infidelity.” A pause. “Do you know what he did when he learnt of her death?”

His eyes go dark, and she smiles easily. Forces him to scowl – well played – to tap off excess ash into a crystal tray for the sake of momentary distraction as her question hovers in the air like an ill-veiled curse.

“He wept.” There, satisfied?

The quietude turns lethal.

“Yes. His grief was so profound that not even the news that he was to be declared a God could still his tears. The only thing he wanted… was her.”

And there is laughter, and there is mirth. A cacophony of utter lunacy as she revels in a joke he is not privy to before making her way across the room, all dance and song and coquettish words. “I suppose that’s what they call true love.”

Kisses him quickly only to retreat, and it is all he can do not to go mad – thinking of trysts and idles and riddles and twiddles….

Sitting there, twiddling his cigarette.

“You know Blair; I’ve never liked your retorts or adages. They test my patience quite severely.”

“And I’ve never liked your attempts at severity.”

“And I’ve never liked this dress.”

She is quick, he is quicker and rough hands find their mark. A sharp tug as she pulls back and there is only the tearing of silk to fill the soundless void; a crack of utter mayhem. Like a storm in the spring, and Blair smiles triumphantly. Complemented and content.

“I suppose this means you’ll be buying me something better.”

An ultimatum and not one to be ignored – gone are all pretences to reform and the good – he replies by fisting the wisps of draping fabric and doing away with what remains of the flimsy attire unlit all charms lay bare. Every barrier torn and strewn across the floor.

And the lady sovereign herself, pillaged to the bone.

“Something expensive,” she adds, moving closer as fingers, deft and cunning, roam down his face. Trickling, tricky, oh so perilous, and he can only wonder–

O fair Messalina! What depravity claims your name.

when pandemonium came so quickly.

“Naturally,” he finalises, settling back into his chair, cigarette once again in hand – in control.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long, then.”

And with that, her thin body vanishes amid a blaze hot and red; the dazzles fizzling and fraying into the ghostly outline of a cursed Queen. A manifestation for all the vice and chaos in the world.

In him.

William loosens his tie before following her into the night.

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Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau.

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