imp3ratrix: (Her eyes caught the melody and echoed it)
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Title: Carpe Diem
Category: Gossip Girl
Pairing/Character(s): Carter/Blair
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Word Count: 956
Spoilers: Yes (Minor allusions to Hi, Society and The Age of Dissonance)
Summary: Courage often brings reward, and Carter stakes his bets with practiced ease and charm.

Notes: Can you tell I was feeling particularly poetic? For the lovely Bryana [ profile] morningslugger.

…because “seize the day” is an aphorism made all too cliché…

Little girl, little queen, little bitch-in-the making is striking is untouchable is irrevocably damned.

Like an omen of ill-fate, she opens her mouth and renders him blind and deaf. A puppet, cut from its strings and falling way too fast, falling for her, and it’s not him at all – but this is not the end, and the worst is yet to come – as he reaches out at the last second–

and grasps thin air.

Caustic, corrosive, elusive, seclusive, and he composes a poem inside his head as she darts ahead, too quick. Out of sight, out of mind – only not – his mind is spinning. Is reeling.

Words disintegrate.

And Carter turns mute.


Patience is futile is inutile is man’s worst vice.



Years later, he catches up to her.

Years later, he has her in his sights again, that girl, all grown and little no more. Donned in blinding silver and obnoxious charms, twirling ‘round and ‘round, she intends to taunt and evade him some more – but now he is well versed in her silly games, ploys and charades. Playing to win, he takes her by the waist and pulls her into a spin.

A practiced step, one-two-three-four, and her mouth curls at the predictable, is unfazed. Seeking a chink in her armour, the proud and au fait veneers, he pulls her close, dips her low and to the floor. A delightful gasp – the favourable response – she recovers and shoots him an ugly glare.

“That wasn’t funny.”

“So sorry.” Not.

And victory is sweet turns bitter in an instant. A fist to the side of his face – what the hell?! – and down he goes, copper on his tongue and left for dead.

As Blair spins away, free and clear.

Like marathons never ceased, never stalled or waited, only now he can safely say–

he’s left quite the impression.



She inspires and uncovers within him the crudest, most base of philosophy.

Equivocality. Sophistry. Casuistry, and all that jazz; fancy words for iniquitous delusions so well versed among Manhattan royals. Has them memorised, he has, down to a tee. And amidst high-and-drunk musings, midnight reads and daily dreams, he discovers a different name for said deceits.

Romance, he so deigns to call it.

Romancing the love, the lover, the loveliest girl in all the world.

In the middle of April, amidst the coveted shadows of yet another New York bar and to the tune of something beautiful, something horrible. Always something and something not; this is the Upper East Side, after all.

The Greatest(Worst) Show on Earth.

Scripts memorised, façades in place, he brushes over her thigh, devilish and flippant from inebriated want. Puts lessons into practice and plays the dark knight, the valiant prince; both and none, whatever she wants.

A smile unfolds, the girl is impressed.

Lashes drop, oh so coy, and there it is: yes.

A roar of applause, Carter takes his bow and bestows a final gift upon his audience of one.

A blood-red rose, for added flair and dramatic pose.


Language is a ploy is a toy is the veil over your eyes.




“You’re bad for me.”

Says this from her mirror, back turned and poised, toying with a pretty headband. Pretty like her – a pretty crown for a pretty queen, all part of some ostentatious fairytale absent of worth. An otherwise convincing tale but he knows, knows all too well. As she knows him–

was, is, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

A flash of those pearly whites – all the better to eat you with! – a drag from a newly-lit joint, and Carter savours the thought of this night’s main course.





An impromptu rendezvous.

Under the morning sun outside one of her favourite boutiques – pure coincidence, really. His fingers find hers before she darts passed, stops her dead in her tracks. Tops the encounter off with an uneven smirk and he instantly sees those ruby lips twist – incredulous! – that haughty brow arch – seriously? – and this wasn’t part of the deal.

But courage often brings reward, and Carter stakes his bets with practiced ease and charm. A date: would you, won’t you, do you?


And his smile falls down flat, just like that. Like the crowds that descend to cover her form, a wash of the dull and grey and he thinks she means to see him tossed away. Tattered and frayed.

The End.


With a scowl tried and true, he retreats.

Thoughts set again on tomorrow.



Love is insufferable is laughable is a dying breed.




Tomorrow comes, tomorrow strikes, tomorrow deals a hard blow and laughs in her face.

And Carter comes next, sees her amiss, drenched in pools of despair and defeat. Sipping on her drink – a martini for solace, for words forgot and left unsaid.

A martini for your thoughts?

She turns to look at him, cautious and curious and there’s a look on her face that reads grim and horrid. Like the façades now crumbled, the delusions shattered, and that lovely throat made coarse with unwanted cries of vice and betrayal. Of ends and finales and full-circles.

Beliefs are difficult to extirpate and forfeit, but he knows now she’s seen and heard the cutting truth: there is nowhere left to run. And so, he dares to move, to shift and to seize what he can. Once again, and again for lifetimes to come – because he fell, that one time long ago, broke his spine and then his heart and never got it back.

He’ll take hers instead.

With a smile, a cruel jest at her dreary pallor, Carter rests a hand on her knee. Easy, and a hazardous good.

“Hello, beautiful.”


Date: 2010-05-19 01:46 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Yay, I'm so relieved you liked it (being experimental writing and all)! The wasted potential on this show is disgraceful, period. And I don't need to reiterate my disdain for Chuck/Blair, especially when I think of what may have been. So sad.

You're too sweet!


imp3ratrix: (Default)
Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau.

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