Title: Who am I?
Summary: What if Dan wasn't Gossip Girl? What if the anonymous blogger was somebody else that we all know, love and hate? A drabble is dedicated to each character being Gossip Girl. Drabbles\One-shots.
Authors Note: This idea popped into my brain and I couldn't not write it. My plan is to write each character before submitting it, one chapter per week and then everyone can feel free to request characters to see. If they would like to. I'm writing this in my new writing style, so drabble like quality I guess. Um, this will all be set in different universes but everything's canon up until CB's wedding in the finale unless stated otherwise.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except maybe, just maybe, Chace Crawford.
NATHANIEL ARCHIBALD
You stare at your friends, their mouths slightly agape, their eyebrows furrowed, a very pregnant blonde fuming.
You look sheepishly towards the ground, nervous shuffling.
You hadn't meant to be Gossip Girl for so long.
You had started it as a joke, a small silly prank, if you will.
A way to express the feelings you had towards Serena with the world, in a secret, slightly disturbing way.
Blair's the most pissed,
But.
It's not fair, she sent in more than half of the tips you used.
She was just as responsible as you were.
You're sitting in a chair at the Bass Townhouse, palms sweaty, frown lines itched deep into your face.
Everyone is here.
It's to mark Henry's first year of being human.
Being alive.
Being here.
And Blair hates you.
And Chuck, he hates you.
And the love of your life, she well, she probably hates you too.
Dan, he doesn't look that mad.
Little Jenny Humphrey just looks sad.
Your mother looks disappointed, your grandfather shocked and your father mad.
Jack is smirking.
Saying something about how he never knew you had it in you.
And,
It disgusts you how you've treated these people.
These people you call friends,
You call family.
And you let out a groan because what have you done?
You've helped ruin lives.
Blair, she lost her baby because of you.
(And your cousin Tripp.)
Your pretty blue eyes float towards Serena.
Her stomach is round, huge and inside of it is your child, heir, spawn.
Henry yawns, balls his hands into tiny fists and smiles as he dreams peacefully.
After his birth you, Gossip Girl, had gone softer.
Gossip Girl was like another identity, another persona.
You were Norman Bates pretending to be Norma Bates.
Nate wasn't Gossip Girl,
Gossip Girl was Nate.
You don't really have concrete reasons to why you were the mastermind behind the whole ordeal, you just were.
It started one day out of the blue - a day spent smoking pot, getting high and dreaming about a long-legged blonde at a certain Bass's suite as that certain Bass entertained a green-eyed beauty in the other room.
Blair had called you up, shrieking, laughing, mortified with some news of Serena.
Your fingers had lazily flown across your laptop, typing up some story under a fake name, an alias.
You had felt cool, a bit like James Bond, or an undercover cop.
And before you knew it you were sending it to everyone in Nate's contact list under Gossip Girl's email.
You were too high to care, too high to think.
Even now, years after being this brilliant mastermind you wonder how you did it.
You got away with so much.
You had caused so much pain but so had they.
You look at every face in the crowd: Dan, Jenny, Rufus, Lily, Eleanor, Cyrus, Harold, Roman, Blair, Chuck, Henry, Serena, Jack, Georgina, Dorota.
Every single one of them had sent in a blast - with the exclusion of the little one.
All of them were as equally responsible as you, all you had to do was type up some witty blast.
It's funny, really.
You had been ignored, placed in second, forgotten about, for all these years and you were pulling the strings the entire time. You were the puppeteer and these, these people were your puppets.
"How could you?" You hear your girlfriend cry, a hand flies up to her forehead dramatically.
Her free hand rubs her swollen belly as she shakes her head, Blair, well she pats her best friends back and whispers soothing words in the blonde's ear, along with horrible words about you.
You open your mouth to speak,
No words come out.
"I don't know how!" You snap - every eye is on you.
You suddenly feel hot, you need fresh air, an escape.
And,
You want to run. For once you want to be like Chuck, just pack up and leave, run without caring.
But then you've always sort of wanted to be like Chuck.
"I'm sorry," You hear yourself say, the words escaping past your mouth easily.
They sound like honey.
It's not enough but you were born into this world.
So they forgive you after a week.
They forgive you after a month.
They forgive you when their water breaks and they're in pain.
They forgive you when their son learns to walk.
They all forgive you.
Your Nate Archibald, you're related to the Vanderbilt's.
It's a scandal but they forgive you anyway.
It's always the case.
They hate you for a while and then they come running back, gushing about how stupid they were and how they never want to be apart from you but you still spend your whole life proving your worth.
"But it doesn't matter anymore, sweetie!" Serena cries when she's eighty-three and you're still going on about how you had ruined all their lives.
The guilt, it never really fades.
"I still hate you," Blair will hiss time to time, a small smile itched on her face and you'll laugh and tease her that she's just mad because you had known about Chuck and Blair longer than you had let on.
(That blast that Chuck sent wasn't the only one you had gotten regarding Blair with someone else, with a certain Bass.)
You had known about everything longer than you had let on.
You close the site down, erase everything ever written on it.
Gossip Girl, she no longer exists.
But she does because she's apart of you.
You'll deny it, she's just another persona, a role you decided to take on but she's there.
Always lurking, itching to be released.
And, Erik, the only person not present during the reveal calls you up late that night after the big reveal.
It was splashed all over The Spectator after you broke the news to the ones it affected the most and the ones you love most.
He's not even mad.
And sometimes you find yourself typing up a blast and then deleting it. Annie, she'll pull on your sleeve and beg you to go and play with her outside.
A\N: I don't even know what this is, it's all complicated and jumbled up and doesn't even make sense but I like it so yeah. Feel free to suggest ideas, people you want to see. I have about six more typed up waiting for editing.