Author's Note: Thought of this one night and actually managed to write the entire thing right then. Of course, that was months before I actually typed it up but, hey, progress.

Disclaimer: It's not mine, I'm just trying to make words sound pretty about it.

My mother and father were never a fairytale.

I've known that since I was about 8.

My mother used to tell me the "story" of the them. That he was her prince, that they had always been sweethearts and always knew they would get married. My dad stormed away whenever she told that. At first I thought he was embarrassed, but I figured it out. There was something missing from that story. There was passion missing from that story and if my parents had anything, it was passion. Sometimes too much for their own good, or... age.

My mother died when she was 43, I was 22. She had managed to get herself pregnant again. She refused to give up the baby, saying it was a sign. I guess her body couldn't handle the stress. I also found out later that she was severely bulimic when she was a teenager, the fact that I came out healthy had been a miracle. The baby was stillborn. My father died a week later of what could only be called a broken heart . He didn't O.D. on anything or drink himself to death as everyone suspected, his heart just gave out. That's what the doctors said.

After his funeral, my aunt Serena sat me down and asked if I had ever heard the true story of my mom and dad. "No" I told her "my mom never wanted me too". She smiled sadly to herself, "Your mom would've killed me if I told you, it doesn't always paint her, or your father, in the best light. But I think somewhere in her heart she would want you to know. And your dad, he definitely wanted you to know."

Then, for the next hour or so (though, honestly, I lost track of time) my aunt Serena chronicled for me the Life and Times of Chuck Bass and Blair Waldorf. I laughed at their antics and schemes, blushed at their, um, passionate ways. I cried because they caused each other so much pain, and because I understand the turmoil of daily Upper East Side life and how easy it was for them to lose each other in it. At the end, when my aunt was finished, I bawled, because their story was truly over. She wrapped her long, comforting arms around me and whispered "It's not. Because you're still here."

My mother and father never were a fairytale.

I've known that since I was about 8.

But screw the world if they weren't the best goddamn love story ever told.

Author's Note: Just to clarify some stuff, stuff you might not even have noticed 'cause I've had more time to think about it than you have. It's not that Blair was ashamed of their story, it's that how does one tell a story like that to their KID. Their daughter (who I haven't named) has a support system. She has family and friends and a long term boyfriend situation and a job and tons of money, just so you don't think Chuck abandoned his little girl with nothing.

Reviews = love, they really do. Please be kind, this one is still really close to my heart.