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.
Santana rolled her eyes as Blair placed another oversized candy cane on their entry table. The smell of fresh pine had been permeating the entire apartment for weeks now. Christmas carols seemed to be playing non-stop on the house speakers. Coming out of her room she heard Blair humming. “You know if you’re going to sing any Christmas carol you might as well go for the good ones.” This was Santana’s second time away from Ohio, so it was either getting ridiculously drunk or being a scrooge. “You can’t go wrong with Santa Baby even if you’re singing it to the jolly fat man.” Despite how cold it was outside, Santana donned a short dress, again proving with not just her song choice that she was more Marilyn than Audrey. “By the way you’re totally off key.”
a trade-marked eyeroll , perfected from the age of four - a mirror image of eleanor waldorf dispproval . ❛ there’s NOTHING wrong with merry little chirstmas - it’s a classic . ❜ nimble fingers perfect her display , adjusting the bells and candy canes and ornaments until there’s not a flaw in sight ; ❛ by the way , some of us were a bit too busy in high school to spend our days singing show-tunes and journey . ❜ snark accompanied by the hint of a smile - a daunting task , it was , to try to bring blair waldorf down between november and january .
❛ now , if you’re done being a scrooge , the caterers are on their way . ❜
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