solid gold, fourteen carat, barely burnished despite twenty years of hard molling. but beneath it, i knew, beneath that gold & stardust, she was all grit and sharp teeth gnashing, head twisting, talons out, tearing flesh.

make me queen

private, selective, independent blair waldorf.

or i'll make you bleed

you have to decide who you are, little girl, she told me once. once you know that, everyone else will too.

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rough touch - funeralpolished-a

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blair wants to fight everyone    /      status :   accepting  ,  

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17.    your muse clutches their hand tightly around my muse’s mouth to silence them  -   soprano sequel pierces the air before muffled to a halt  ,  chocolate eyes growing wider at the RUDE intrusion  .  usually dainty fingers reach for the other’s hand  —   her friend’s hand  ,  manicured nails digging and pulling  ,  desperately reaching to pull her peer away  .  when she succeeds  ,  there’s a gasp of air and her own hand reaching to cup her face ;   ❛   –   what the  FUCK  ,  brooke  ?    ❜  







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