Author: Lauren.
Rating: Rated T.
Character/Pairing: Blair Waldorf, Serena van der Woodsen, Nate Archibald, Serena/Blair, Nate/Blair. 'She can, she could but he doesn't taste like sugary sweet Pop Tarts. Not like she did.'
Summary: Serena/Blair.
Disclaimer: Everyone belongs to Cecily originally and Josh more recently.
Author's Note: I watched a Blair/Serena video on youtube, and it totally inspired me and here we are. I love B/S in both the book and the show universe, but I guess I used more of the book since they have more of a slash vibe in the novels than on the show. As always, reviews are the best gifts ever.
Blair likes tea parties.
She likes the scalding hot liquid nothing that sits inside bone china while fashionably dressed ladies sip and discuss the latest scandal. Did you hear about the Van der Woodsen boy?
She likes the cupcakes that they serve, all neatly iced, small but perfectly formed. She likes the way they look against swirling white porcelain when she tilts her head back, her ringlets hanging like a limp kite string and it could be a kaleidoscope. If she screws her eyes up tight enough then the tears blur her vision, mesh her eyelashes together and she can pretend it's a kaleidoscope.
Serena's gone. Who knows where, all Blair got was 'oh didn't you hear, Serena's moved to Connecticut?' She didn't hear anything else because her fingers went slack and the phone dropped out of her hand.
She writes letters. Endless letters until ink stains her nails and it aches like a tear in her skin.
Where are you?
The grief hits her like a runaway train. Like Serena's dead and buried and all she can do is scatter soft earth over her casket (it would be beautiful, just like her) and whisper how much she loved her into the ground.
Why don't you call?
Serena hits her like a hurricane, a storm made of golden hair and coltish limbs and sweet smelling skin. Water hits her eyes, her hair, her carefully planned outfit. And Nate's hands string around her waist and Serena twirls, the hem of her dark robe, Blair's robe, floating out like a petticoat around her thighs. Droplets drip from their faces, their chins, their knees as they twist and interweave, the spray flowing like a fountain through the air.
Why did you leave without saying goodbye?
She misses her. That's the hardest to admit. It's so much easier to be angry because then the bitterness is numbing and she can retch and never feel full. She never wants to be full again.
You're supposed to be my best friend.
She lets Nate runs his hands over her body, through her hair, making her whimper and arch and sometimes, she forgets. She forgets about S and glossy pink lips and I love you B. But she always reaches a point (and he loves that) and then it's all Nate stop, I can't. She can, she could, but he doesn't taste like sugary sweet Pop Tarts. Not like she did.
I miss you so much.
She looks beautiful. Windswept and perfect and when she wraps her arms around her with a very unBlair-like squeal, she can't help but squeeze her a little too tightly, just to make sure she's real. But she's gone as soon as she arrived and Blair feels like a junkie that needs one more hit. Just one more, I swear this is the end.
Love, Blair.