In a Land Far Away (Part 2)
Author's Note.
I feel compelled to apologize for what you are about to read. It's ridiculously bad. You may want to skip it. You may indeed decide to close the window halfway through. I won't blame you if you do, although I'll be hurt, of course.
This was intended to be a very serious story, but it somehow degenerated into meaningless crap. In my defence, I must point out that I did in fact start out with a plot. I really did. And then I tried to write a sex scene (which was instrumental in making the plot work) and my girlfriend laughed at it. I have honestly never been more embarassed in my life. She's still laughing right now. I can see her.
So after she laughed at it, I decided to write with righteous indignation, and this is the result.
Once again, I do apologize for this crap.
Here's the story. By the way, usual disclaimers apply.
In a Land Far Away (Part 2)
“I’m just saying, Serena…a good story needs a beginning, a middle and an end. It needs a climax, to which all the other scenes build up to. Yours just doesn’t have that.” Dan Humphrey was well aware that as someone who called himself a writer, he should be using writer-esque terminology when explaining things like this, but then again, he was talking to Serena van der Woodsen.
“Humphrey’s right, S,” Blair said, as soothingly as she could manage. “A good story needs those elements. They’re…necessary.”
“So what the both of you are saying is that my story sucks,” Serena said flatly. She tried to sit up, and found herself trapped under the sheets.
“We’re not saying that at all,” Blair said, with a warning glance at Dan, who, it must be pointed out, was about to tell the blonde that yes, her story sucked, but in a more diplomatic way. “We’re just saying that it could use some work.”
“Some work?”
“Yes. Like…like a…a…” Blair looked appealingly at Dan, who shrugged and said the first thing that came to his mind.
“Like a sequel,” he said.
“A sequel?” Serena asked skeptically. “I thought it was pretty good as it is!”
“It was,” said Blair quickly. “What Dan and I are saying is that it lacks…something…” She trailed off into silence at the blonde’s stony look.
“Fine,” Serena said shortly. “If you think it needs a sequel, then you guys can write the sequel.” She finally managed to extricate herself from the sheets, and began to walk away from the bed.
“S…come back!” Blair said sharply. “This is unacceptable! We were supposed to have sex!” Nostrils flared in a way that Dan Humphrey found absolutely appealing. “I refuse to meet Chuck without having all prior amorous desires firmly extinguished!”
The blonde paused and leaned against the doorframe. “I’m not putting out until you guys have a sequel written, or admit that my story doesn’t need a sequel!” The challenge written all over her face was very…challenging. “And don’t you two dare do anything without me either!” she called out from somewhere outside.
“She’s serious,” Dan observed mildly after Serena had stormed away, leaving a certain brunette fuming in bed. “We might as well admit that we were wrong and that her story is perfect as it is.”
“Not on your life, Humphrey,” Blair said firmly. “If Serena can write a half baked story on her own, we can certainly come up with something better. Together,” she said meaningfully, and Dan groaned and leaned back in his pillow. He wondered when this had turned into round one hundred of the still ongoing battle between Waldorf and van der Woodsen, and when he had been drafted into the Waldorf forces.
“Move it, Humphrey,” Blair declared dramatically. “To the writing table!”
Chuck Bass would never get himself into this position, Dan thought miserably, and then smirked as he perked up. But then again, he’ll never get a threesome with Serena and Blair either.
“This is absolutely not a good idea,” said Penn Badgley, when Blake told him precisely what she intended to do. “There are not enough words in all the languages in the world to describe what a bad idea this is.”
“I am a knight,” Blake replied firmly. “A knight rides to the rescue on a white horse, with his banners fluttering in the wind, brandishing a sword to banish all evil from the world!”
“Granted,” Penn said quickly. “But you’ve already been on a quest,” he pointed out. “And you found the object of that quest, didn’t you? You got the Princess! So why can’t you just be happy and retire your knighthood and enjoy the rest of your life like a normal person?”
“Because,” Blake said slowly, “That quest wasn’t exactly a proper quest, was it? I didn’t rescue the princess – I didn’t even find the princess. She found us, if you would recall,” she said pointedly. “And it was Ed who rescued Leighton from the clutches of the Dark Wizard.”
“I fail to see your point,” Penn lied. He did, in fact, see her point most clearly, as if it were pointed right at him. He would be the first to agree that the previous epic was not a proper epic at all – it lacked the requisite blood and slaughter and battles that so litter all other epics out there. There had been only one death, and while that may have been grisly (when looked at from the viewpoint of Chace Crawford, who had been the one to die), a single death does not an epic make.
Still, while he knew that he had not been on a proper epic, Penn Badgley, squire for life, did not particularly want to go on a proper epic, because epics were dangerous. And he suspected that squires died on epics, because knights and their lady loves do not. Still, he mused, there was always Ed.
The thought cheered him up somewhat, but not so much that he was suddenly wholeheartedly on board the new epic quest ride.
“What does Leighton think about this?” he asked quickly. This, he knew, was a smart move on his part. Blake Lively was in love with Leighton Meester, and if Leighton Meester did not want to take part in this epic, there was no way that Blake Lively would set out on it.
“She was very supportive,” said Blake, dashing all of Penn’s hopes. “It was her idea, as a matter of fact.”
“It was?” he asked suspiciously. Blake nodded, and walked off to make preparations for the quest. Penn narrowed his eyes, and then stared at the figure of Ed Westwick walking with his hands in his pockets, whistling a light hearted tune.
Penn narrowed his eyes some more.
Princess Leighton Meester could not help but feel like she was being skillfully played – tugged around like a puppet at the end of a puppeteer’s strings. She strongly suspected that the idea of this quest was not in fact hers but did in fact belong to a certain Dark Wizard.
“She seems happy, I guess,” Leighton said. “It’s just…” she shrugged, a little unsure of what exactly to say. “I think she’s a little bored.”
“Of you?” asked Ed, sounding appropriately surprised.
“Not of me,” Leighton replied with a scornful roll of her eyes. “At least I don’t think she’s bored of me, you know. She’s just bored of this life.”
“This life?”
“She’s a knight, after all,” Leighton mused, not really listening to Ed, because his opinion did not really matter, did it? When you ask someone for their opinion, it’s not because you particularly want their opinion at all. You just want someone to listen while you talk to yourself. “She’s a knight, and she craves adventure and stuff like that. She’s not exactly farmhand material, is she?”
“I don’t know,” said Ed Westwick carefully. “She seems to be doing all right with it. At least the cows don’t run away whenever she tries to milk them.” Unlike you, he added privately. Word had spread quickly, it seemed – herds of cattle that would normally be very resistant to the idea of returning to their pens would scurry in quicker than lightning and lock the gates behind them at the mere mention of Leighton Meester’s name. Farmers once confronted with stubborn animals had discovered a new terror to cow them into submission.
“And besides,” Leighton added, “She’s always wanted to travel and see the world.”
“Wasn’t that you?” Ed asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Are you sure this isn’t about you being bored on a farm?”
“And well, as much as I like it here,” Leighton lied blatantly, “I want to support Blake in whatever decision she makes.”
“Of course you do,” Ed said, giving up entirely. “You are such a good girlfriend, you know?”
“I am, aren’t I?” she beamed happily.
“Blake’s lucky to have you,” Ed said sarcastically, in the full knowledge that the sarcasm would pass right over the brunette’s head. She was that short, after all.
Still, she thought, it was jolly lucky that Ed Westwick happened to know of a certain something that needed to be rescued, or something like that. She hadn’t exactly been listening very closely when the man had told her and Blake about the object of this new quest. The moment he had said the words ‘land far away’ and ‘over the Great Ocean’ Leighton Meester had been won over.
She examined her reflection in the mirror critically. Longsword? Check. Silver tipped throwing knives? Check. Silver hilted throwing knives? Check. Small hidden crossbow nestled against her left wrist? Check. Small hidden crossbow nestled against her right wrist? Check. Hidden detachable crossbow attached to her back? Check. Chain mail armor under the thick padded leather vest? Check. Hidden dagger in left boot? Check. Hidden dagger in right boot? Also check. Sliding knife nestled against the underside of each hand? Check and check. Crossbow hanging from the other side of her hip? Check that too.
It paid to be prepared for a quest, in Leighton Meester’s opinion. She was bristling with enough weaponry to fight a small war. She jingled. In a threatening manner.
She smiled at her reflection and turned around on her heel…and promptly fell face first on the hard wood floor.
Ed Westwick continued whistling, walking around like a man without a care in the world, until he became aware of someone stalking up behind him. Immediately he turned around, his hands raised in the attack stance of the High-Yeah Monks of A Very High Place Mountain, a deadly martial art that he did not in fact know.
He was rather banking on the person stalking him not knowing that he, Ed Westwick, did not know said martial art.
He sighed, and straightened. “What?” he asked.
Penn Badgley eyed him suspiciously. “Blake’s heading out on a quest,” he said.
“Is she?” The look of pure innocence on Ed’s face would have put a certain baby in a certain manger to shame. “I didn’t know that.”
“She is,” Penn confirmed. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?”
“I just said I didn’t know, didn’t I?” said Ed Westwick, contriving to look hurt. “Don’t you believe me?”
Penn Badgley took a step forward. In any other person, it would have been a threatening step forward, but in the case of Penn Badgley, whose fear of anything that walked or crawled on grass, or swam in shallow waters was well known to Ed Westwick, it was the threatening step of a coward.
“Look,” Penn said. “Level with me here, all right? What’s going on?”
Ed glanced at the squire, and then sighed. “All right,” he said. “Here’s how things stand.” He took a deep breath, and then said it. “Treasure.”
That got Penn Badgley’s attention immediately. “Treasure?”
“Treasure,” said Ed again. “The long lost treasure of the pirate Bernie Madoff – the same pirate who reputedly made off with the entire treasury of the kingdom of Ponzy. We’re going to look for it.”
“I thought Blake said that we were going to search for the Holy Grail,” Penn replied.
“Of course she is,” Ed said patiently. “You don’t go around expecting knights to go on treasure hunts, do you? They’re too noble for that sort of thing. But chuck the word ‘holy’ in front of something and that immediately turns it into a religious sort of quest, and that sort of thing is allowed.”
“So there is no Holy Grail?” asked Penn.
“There’s probably a grail amongst the vast treasures of the pirate Bernie Madoff,” Ed Westwick waved the objection away. “Who’s to say that one of those things hasn’t been consecrated to some god or another?” he asked. “Bound to be a Holy Grail in there somewhere.”
“And while Blake and Leighton search for the Holy Grail…”
“We gather as much treasure as we can,” said Ed, adding a certain emphasis on that first word. There is no greater incentive to a born coward than the promise of a monetary reward.
“That’s a good plan,” Penn said approvingly. “I like it!”
“Good man,” said Ed.
Leighton surveyed the vast array of weapons in front of her and sighed. A slim hand reached forward, brushing a longing finger over each sharp instrument.
“You can’t bring them all, you know,” Blake said, peering over her shoulder.
“I know,” Leighton said, smiling as the blonde wrapped her arms around her waist. “They just look so pretty,” she added, sighing as she leaned into Blake’s arms.
Blake kissed her cheek lightly. “You shouldn’t come along,” she started. “It’ll be dangerous. There’s going to be pirates and sea monsters and – ” What else there was going to be was lost when Blake Lively’s lips were captured in a kiss.
“Blake,” Leighton said slowly, leaning in to kiss her again. “We met on a quest, didn’t we? That didn’t turn out so bad, did it? And if you think I’m going to allow you to go on another quest so you can meet another girl, you’ve got another thing coming.”
She was going to say more, but Blake silenced her with a kiss of her own. “I don’t need another girl,” Blake said, grinning slightly. “I’ve got you, haven’t I? That’s all I need.”
“It better be,” Leighton warned, and then kissed the blonde square on the nose. “No arguments. I’m going with you. Someone has to watch your back. And it’s not going to be Penn or Ed. Now…” she pushed the blonde away slowly, and glanced at the weapons. “I can’t choose which ones to take.”
“I’ll pick them out for you,” Blake promised. Her hand slowly stroked down Leighton’s side, moving ever closer to the curve of the brunette’s hip. “Now,” Blake whispered, her voice suddenly turning husky, “Why don’t we…”
Leighton pushed past her suddenly, eyes growing wide. “I’ve got to help Ed with something,” she said hurriedly. “See you, Blake!”
Blake Lively watched her go, and then sat down with a sigh. This was starting to become a problem.
Contrary to popular belief (at least in the perverted heads of Ed Westwick and Penn Badgley), Blake and Leighton’s relationship had hit a snag. They liked each other – a lot, and the emotions they felt had certainly translated into their daily actions – holding hands, those small little accidental touches, kissing…and stopped right there. They kissed, and maybe during those heated moments of lip to lip contact certain things had been done, but what had been done was in the opinion of Blake Lively not nearly enough.
Sex. That was it, plain and simple. Blake Lively and Leighton Meester had yet to do anything remotely close to sex.
No, she was not pressuring Leighton into doing something she did not want to do, and in fact there had been times when it was Leighton who was doing the hinting and Blake doing the retreating. It was all very awkward, and boiled down to one simple fact.
Neither of them knew how to do it.
Girl and guy – well, everyone knew what to do there. There was, after all, something remarkably obvious and easy to use about the respective biological appendages that left very little to the imagination. It was when you started putting things into places where they did not belong that the real trouble begins. But really – how much deviation could there be, once you knew the basic functions and mechanics?
Girl and girl…now that was different. There was no actual handbook to detail what a woman should do to another woman, and there was no one to ask. A father telling his daughter about the birds and the bees had failed to mention what would happen when there were no birds and no bees – just flowers.
Blake Lively sighed. She did not, to be quite honest, actually want to go on this quest. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She did want to go on this quest, and she did want to go on this quest with Leighton, no matter what rubbish she spouted about it not being safe. Privately, she suspected that if confronted by pirates or dragons or fell beasts, Leighton would place her hands on her hips and tell them off in a no nonsense kind of voice that would leave said fell beast running away crying for its mother.
This quest was, however, a distraction – something to do to inject some life in a relationship that had yet to progress in terms of physical involvement. Blake Lively hoped that it would be enough.
Besides, she thought, quests were journeys of discovery, were they not? And if in the previous quest she had discovered Leighton, maybe in this quest she would discover how to make Leighton happy. Very, very happy indeed.
They were finally underway. And, as is always the case, Penn Badgley was starting to have second thoughts – and such thoughts inevitably concerned questions about his mortality and the fatality rate of adventurers off in search of treasure.
The only difference in this case was the fact that he was not pestering Blake Lively as he usually did, but had turned his attention to a certain Ed Westwick.
“I’m just saying,” Penn said, “Treasure hunts are never conducted by one party alone. There’s always another party in direct competition, and that party consists of a lot of bad people who are willing to sink to low depths to ensure that they are the sole party that arrives at the treasure spot.”
“Will you just trust me on this?” Ed asked irritably. “There is no other party involved. There is just us, and the treasure. No one else knows that we are setting out on this little hunt, and no one else will know until we come back richer than all the other buggers in the world. We’ll be bathing in gold, my friend,” he said expansively. “Gold, and silver, and other precious metals.”
“Are you sure?” asked Penn. “How can you be sure? You can’t, can you?”
“I am a hundred percent positive,” said Ed reassuringly. “There is only one map, and that map is here with me, in my pocket. No one else has a map.”
“They could be following us,” Penn countered. “Maybe they know that we have the only map, and they’re just waiting for us to stop for the night, at which point two people will creep over the hill and cut our throats while we sleep and steal the map.”
“There’s no one following us!” Ed said through gritted teeth, although he did turn his head and peer over the horizon, because one can never be too careful about this sort of thing. “And if you’re so worried,” he continued, “We’ll make it a point to not sleep under a hill, all right?”
“Fine,” said Penn. “But what else is there?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“What else is there?” asked Penn again. “Because I know how this sort of thing works. If there isn’t another party in search of this treasure, then there must be something guarding this treasure. Something big, large and nasty. There is, isn’t there?”
There was, but Ed Westwick’s philosophy in life was to worry about the great fire breathing dragon only when the great fire breathing dragon was breathing fire at him.
“What makes you think there is something guarding the treasure?” he asked, hoping to head Penn off.
“There always is,” Penn said. “A treasure hunt is never easy.”
“You are a pessimist, you know that?”
“You did not answer my question.”
“Fine,” said Ed, glowering at the other man. “There may be something guarding the treasure.”
“I knew it!” Penn crowed triumphantly, and then realized that him being right was not a matter to be celebrated. “So what is it?” he asked anxiously. “Is it a dragon? A giant serpent? A stone guardian?” His imagination was furnishing all sorts of wonderful ideas that would make even the most manic fantasy author stop in his tracks and say “Now hold on just a minute!” in a posh British accent.
“I don’t actually know,” Ed admitted.
“Is it a curse? Oooh – it’s a curse, isn’t it? It’s a curse that will attack anyone who dares enter the forbidden tomb and kill them within twenty years, isn’t it?” Penn Badgley stopped and gaped at Ed as his mental gears rapidly shifted into reverse. “What do you mean you don’t actually know?” he whimpered.
“It means that I don’t actually know,” said Ed. “The warning on the map was not entirely precise.”
Blair Waldorf, author extraordinaire, paused thoughtfully, her forehead creased in a pretty frown as she glanced at the computer screen.
The task of writing a Bleighton fic, she was beginning to realize, may simply be more difficult than earlier anticipated.
Dan Humphrey, a man who was happy to be shared by two lovers because of the simple fact that he was being shared by two lovers, glanced over her shoulder.
“You’re doing fine,” he said encouragingly. “Keep at it.”
She glared at him, the scathing look now on her face providing all the answers he needed as to what she thought about that particular comment. Humphrey, Brooklyn’s very own Benedict Arnold, had somehow managed to escape involvement in this endeavor despite Blair Waldorf’s most wheedling attempts at getting him to help her, ie getting him to write the whole thing and letting her take credit for it when he was done. He was quite simply impossible.
“Not easy, is it?” The smugness dripping from Serena’s tone was quite truly insufferable. The blonde was leaning against the doorframe, watching her girlfriend’s attempts at writing a sequel flounder helplessly in the ocean of literary adversity.
“It’s getting there,” Blair replied, firmly keeping her face pointed at the screen.
“You know you can just admit that writing a sequel would be beyond you, you know,” Serena said as she padded on bare feet to lean against the back of Blair’s chair. Her hair tickled the brunette’s neck as she leaned forward. “Just admit it, B.”
“Not happening,” Blair snarled, but all the bite was lost as Serena’s lips ghosted against her neck. “Don’t you even think about…” Her words trailed off into a gasping whimper at the touch.
“You’re cheating, Serena,” Dan observed from his vantage point.
“What’s the matter, Dan?” Serena asked archly. “Not enjoying the view?”
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Not complaining,” he said.
“Whose side are you on?” asked Blair accusingly, firmly resisting the urge to turn around and lock lips with a certain blonde best friend.
“I’m not playing that game with either of you. Taking sides in a threeway relationship is an impossibility.”
“Coward,” Serena said fondly. “Come on, Blair,” she tried. “All you have to do is say that you can’t do it.”
“Like I said, that’s not…happen…” Blair Waldorf became acutely aware of Serena’s hand now moving to caress her side, fingertips walking along the length of her arm before taking a detour to her tummy. “This isn’t fair,” she complained. “S…”
It was most distressing how her intended tone of defiant indignation sounded more like a tone of wanton longing.
“Just give,” said Serena, her voice turning husky. And then she palmed Blair’s breast.
Blair arched herself forward, turning around on the swivel chair. Serena smiled in satisfaction, and then shivered as Blair’s hand touched her right…there.
She whimpered. Longingly.
“Want more, S?” Blair asked, and despite herself – despite her need to control the situation, Serena van der Woodsen nodded quickly. She was distantly aware that Blair Waldorf had somehow taken the upper hand in the tug of war for control.
“Too bad,” the brunette smirked, withdrawing her hand away. “I have a story to write.”
“Blair…” Now it was Serena who sounded needy.
“You started it,” the brunette replied heartlessly.
Note to self – write Bleighton interaction first, because that’s the most important thing. Figure out plot later. Plots are immaterial at this point.
P.S – Dan Humphrey is not getting any this week.
Blair Waldorf
“We need to talk,” said Blake, closing the door behind her.
Leighton Meester, who was busy pretending to be busy, stood up hurriedly. “Can we talk later?” she asked. “It’s just that Penn needs me to…”
“Penn’s with Ed,” Blake replied. “They’re doing something important for the continued development of this epic – though not important enough that the interaction between our characters is overshadowed by the convoluted plot.” She leaned against the door, crossing her arms over her chest. “I checked. He doesn’t need your help – which means that we are going to stay here and talk this through.”
“Talk about what?” asked Leighton, who knew precisely what there was to talk about.
“You.” Blake advanced, and Leighton shrank back. “Me.” The blonde took another step, and Leighton found herself back first against the wall, with her shoulder blades trying to carve their way through wood.
“Sex.”
The word hung motionless in the air, as pink as a blushing baby.
“I…I…” Leighton found herself stammering. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Blake Lively took a step back, and then sat down heavily on the bed, her head in her hands. “Is it me, Leight?” she asked suddenly. “Do you not…want me…that way?” She lifted her head, her face a mask of stricken anguish. “Because if you don’t, it’s fine. Really.”
Sex – the unenviable problem. Some couples fall into it almost instantaneously, as seen in numerous movies where man and woman lock lips and bodies with reckless abandon, aggressively touching and kissing and pushing against one another, with frequent collisions against doors and walls, punctuated by gasping moans and sighs and whimpers. Other couples are more hesitant – the day of marriage is often a blur because bride and groom are both too busy being nervous about marriage night and how things will turn out then. Some don’t do it at all – they spoon and flick through channels and mutter sweet nothings or nothing at all to each other, because they have reached that certain age where doing the deed is no longer a thing of necessity.
And there are some couples who don’t do it at all, even though one of them wants to.
Blake Lively wanted to. Very much. She just wasn’t sure that Leighton wanted to as well.
It was difficult being in a pioneering relationship in a world where the epitome of female indecency was the casual lifting of a skirt to reveal just a hint of an ankle. Especially if said pioneering relationship involved two women who were confronted by prejudices and challenges that shall be hinted at but not fully explored because that sort of story depresses the author.
Long story short, Blake Lively wanted Leighton Meester, and she was pretty sure that Leighton Meester wanted Blake Lively back. Pretty sure, which was pretty darn sure, was not however completely sure, because relationships involve insecurities and when said relationship involves two people of the same sex, an often recurring insecurity is the unpleasant thought that maybe the other person does not actually want you the way you want her – a sort of one sided, unrequited physical attraction.
Blake Lively, female knight, was struggling with this insecurity. And as is the case with all insecurities, a mere shadow of a doubt can become something far more tangible and concrete than it really is because it is bolstered by thoughts propelled by a lack of self confidence.
Leighton moved forward quickly, sitting down beside the blonde. “I do,” she said with feeling. “I really do. It’s just…” She lapsed into silence, looking down at her hands. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what?” Blake asked.
“I don’t know how to do it,” Leighton whispered. “I don’t know what to do. I want to,” she continued, turning to look at Blake. “I really do. I just don’t know what to do.” She lowered her head, feeling the blush warming her cheeks.
“I want you,” she said suddenly, turning up to face the blonde. “I do.” A hand reached out to cover Blake’s, fingers squeezing gently. “Don’t you ever doubt that.”
“But you don’t know how to…how to…do it?”
“Do you?” Leighton asked suddenly.
“I…don’t, either.” It was liberating in a way, to know that Leighton wanted her just as much as she wanted Leighton. A peculiar sort of freedom that came with the knowledge that certain feelings were reciprocated, and that the only bar to consummation was the lack of knowledge with regards to the proper way to conduct said consummation.
“We need help,” Blake Lively declared suddenly, looking Leighton right in the face. She watched as the briefest shadow of hesitancy flickered in the brunette’s eyes, and then it was quickly displaced by steely determination.
“We need…” Leighton Meester was aware that what she was about to do may possibly be the most difficult thing in the world. “We need to consult…” And found that she could not say it.
“Ed,” said Blake Lively, and felt the bitter aftertaste of the name on her tongue.
“You want me to…uh…” Ed Westwick could scarcely believe his luck.
“Yes,” said Leighton in a voice that just dared him to make one…just one, inappropriate comment. She glared at him. For a girl who was asking for his help in a potentially embarrassing and certainly touchy subject, she looked remarkably belligerent.
Blake Lively just blushed, and gave thanks to God that Penn Badgley was nowhere in sight.
“Well…” Ed cleared his throat, and still found himself unable to say a thing. “Well,” he tried again. Images of Leighton and Blake in various positions flickered through his head.
“Can you help?” Leighton cut in dispassionately, because she knew precisely what he was thinking. Well, not precisely, because if she knew precisely what he was thinking, she would need no help from him at all.
“Of course,” he said, and thought twice about smiling reassuringly. A smile, no matter how sincere on his part, would not, he suspected, go down well with the princess now starring daggers at him. He tried to keep a serious face.
“Then help,” Leighton said flatly.
“You…you just want me to tell you?” he squeaked out nervously.
“Yes,” Blake muttered, finding it hard to meet his gaze. She was finding it hard to look anywhere but her feet.
“Oh,” he said. “All right. Sure. I can do that.” The words were coming out – he knew that they were coming out, but he could not help himself. His mouth was quite frankly uncontrollable – it flapped away in the sure and certain knowledge that it would be other parts of Ed Westwick that would feel the painful consequences of what it said. “You know,” his mouth said, despite his best efforts to control it, “I could just show you. The both of you,” he continued, much to his horror. Worse, he felt his mouth smile, and he was pretty sure that it was not a very pleasant smile. “At the same time, even.”
He spent five minutes trying to recover from the very hard pinch delivered by the fingertips of Blake Lively, courtesy of a nod from Leighton Meester.
“You dare to strike me?” he boomed in a loud voice, and punctuated his words with intermittent flashes of lightning and thunder. The skies darkened as the Dark Wizard raged – clouds whirled around his head in a spiral, skewing the light to cast his profile into a shadowy silhouette. “I am the Dark Wizard Ed Westwick, Master of the Blackest Arts, Keeper of the Dark Flame, Bringer of Eternal Night! How dare you lay a finger upon me, you insignificant creature? You, who are naught but dust at my feet! You, who are but a speck of dirt to me! Do not assume yourself my better, for it is only by my mercy that you still live!”
That was what he would have done, if he could summon anything remotely close to a dust cloud. Because he could not, he settled for a childlike wail and rubbed the affected spot to soothe the pain away.
“So what do we have to do?” asked Leighton, once Ed had stopped whimpering like a child. He glared at her, and then forced his face into an ingratiating smile.
He was a Dark Wizard, after all. Or he had been a Dark Wizard. Now he was a protector. A non magical protector. Or something. Mentally, he shook his head. Go down that road, he told himself, and you shall never get the revenge that you so desire.
You can take the Wizard out of the Dark, but you can never take the Dark out of the Wizard. If wizardry were real, that would be a very profound point.
“You don’t have to do anything…yet,” he said smoothly. “I’ll have to do some… research.” The way he said it aroused some suspicion in Leighton Meester, and so she stared at him suspiciously, as was appropriate at times like this.
“Research?” she asked skeptically.
“Research,” he confirmed. “I have to delve deep into my dark and unspeakable arts in order to pry the secrets of Sapphic pleasures from the jaws of carnal pleasure.” That, he thought, sounded suitably occult, which was important, because sounding occult and mysterious was half of what wizardry is all about.
The other part – actual talent, Ed Westwick lacked. It has been theorized by his tutors that if Ed Westwick were to die one day, the average magical ability of the entire human race would actually go up by an entire point.
Lacking magical talent may have been a bar to many a failed wizard, but Ed Westwick intended to beat the odds.
Research. The mere mention of the word brings many a student in universities the world over to their knees. The realization that you actually have to do some work in order to obtain your degree has yet to dawn upon most people entering the ivory gates of higher education.
Many a successful career in street side performance and acting in movies of questionable morality has been founded upon this lack of realization.
Ed Westwick had been a successful student because he actually loved research. He enjoyed the pleasure of the hunt – sifting through tons of dusty manuscripts and reading spidery script scrawled in ancient and dead languages gave him a certain thrill. This could possibly explain why he was well over twenty and had yet to get any action, besides that which he gave himself (and a brief liaison with a pillow, although that should never be mentioned. Ever.)
And this research would be remarkably easy, he reflected, because he knew precisely what he was looking for.
The key to embarking on any investigation on any subject is knowing the answer beforehand – travesties of justice notwithstanding.
He had, thankfully, brought his books with him. And he had enlisted Penn Badgley’s assistance, because everyone knows that revenge is more fun when it’s being conducted by more than one person.
“The ingredients are simple,” Ed said. “Just a few everyday herbs, maybe one or two exotic spices – nothing we can’t manage.”
If this was anything else, Penn Badgley would be hesitant. He was not, however, because this would almost certainly work.
“You’re sure this will work?” he had asked Ed, when the latter had explain the plan to him.
“Almost certainly,” Ed replied. “Almost one hundred percent guaranteed!”
“And there’s no chance of this getting out of hand and, say, causing me to be hurt severely?”
“Absolutely none,” Ed smiled. “In fact,” he grinned, “This may actually work out in our favor.”
He stood in place and waited, until Penn’s lips curved in a fair imitation of a wicked smile.
“Let’s do this!” he said.
They did it.
“Well,” said Blake, “That went well, I think.”
“Research,” Leighton replied darkly. “What research could he possibly need to do? He probably knows all about sex already.”
“How would he know?” Blake wondered.
“He reads,” Leighton said, rolling her eyes. “A lot.”
“Books? There are books?” Blake Lively was aghast. “Books about…sex?” She had never before thought that such a thing was possible.
“Of course.” Leighton looked surprised. “You didn’t know?”
“There are books?” Blake asked again, the disbelief in her voice blatantly obvious. Like anyone who knows that reading is a commendable habit and yet has never ever been inclined to pick up a book, she had a misplaced respect for the value of literature.
Books, to Blake Lively, were sacred, and something so sacred and profound should not be smeared by what can only be called smut.
“People write about sex?” Blake asked again. The words coming out of her lips sounded foreign, even to her.
“You didn’t know?” Leighton stared at her girlfriend. It was oddly endearing – this childlike innocence now being displayed by the blonde.
“Why…how…” Blake Lively was at a loss for words. A sudden realization dawned upon her. “And people read these books?”
“I think that’s pretty obvious, don’t you?” Leighton replied. “Why would anyone write something if there’s not going to be anyone to read it?”
She watched for a moment while Blake Lively performed with her lips a fair imitation of a goldfish drinking water.
“Everything written is basically an allegory for sex,” Leighton said, matter of factly. “Sex is foremost on everyone’s minds.”
“Impossible!” Blake Lively said disbelievingly. “You’re making this up.”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
“Am not!” Leighton snapped. “Take stories, for instance. They’re all about sex. Even children fairy tales.”
“That can’t be true!” Blake Lively had never before been confronted with such a heretical thought. “You’re making this up!” she said again.
“Fine,” Leighton said shortly. “Try me. Every story you’ve ever read is an allegory for sex. The writers can’t help it – it just comes out unconsciously.”
“All right,” Blake said, screwing her face up as she tried to remember the admittedly short list of books she has ever read. She brightened.
“What about that story…I forget the exact title, oh yeah,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Evening – that ground breaking epic of a woman who falls in love with a vampire and a werewolf? It’s about love – not sex! There is a difference, you know,” said the woman who loved Leighton Meester but did not know how to have sex with Leighton Meester.
“You may think it’s about love,” Leighton said scathingly, “But it’s actually about sex. Sexual deviance, in fact.”
“Say what?”
“This girl – she’s in love with a vampire, right? And what are vampires? They’re dead creatures. That’s necrophilia,” Leighton replied smugly. “And the werewolf? The guy who walks around on all fours half the time? That’s bestiality.”
“Fine,” Blake said grudgingly, after giving that point some thought. “But what about that epic about a boy wizard and his battle against the Dark Lord, assisted by his two friends?”
“Sex,” said Leighton, smirking. “They have wands, don’t they? That’s an euphemism for that thing that dangles in between every guy’s legs. And is it not said that ‘a wizard’s wand has a knob at the end’? And besides – a shared common room with adjoining dormitories? Hidden rooms and specially reserved bathrooms? How exactly is that innocent?”
The actual saying, by the way, is “A wizard’s staff has a knob at the end” but Leighton Meester was not above twisting established literary canon to suit her own needs.
“It’s a children’s book!” Blake wailed out, blushing horribly. “I can’t believe this!”
She looked so heartbroken that Leighton decided to take pity on her. “Well, it’s not always about sex,” she said slowly, and when the blonde brightened, the shorter brunette smiled cruelly. “But everyone twists things into sexual perversity.”
“What do you mean?”
“Fanfiction,” said Leighton Meester, successfully breaking the fourth wall. “And shipping.”
Blake Lively looked positively lost, and Leighton felt compelled to enlighten her about how low people would sink.
“There are people,” she said, her voice lowering into a whisper, as if imparting a dark secret, “Who will twist the most innocent of things into mindless sex crazed depravities simply because they can.”
“What do you mean?” asked Blake Lively, also whispering, although she was whispering only because Leighton was whispering.
“Take a play, for instance,” Leighton said. “There are people who look beyond what is being acted – who twist little facts into perverse adventures. They invent relationships – ships, in short – between characters with no chemistry whatsoever.”
“Like…?”
“Like Gossip Girl,” said Leighton, who was on a one woman mission to displace the fourth wall brick by brick. “Dan and Blair – absolutely no chemistry between them for the first three seasons, but Dair fanfictions were already abounding! Imagine the cries of joy from Dair fans when the writers decided to make Dair somewhat canon in Season Four!”
“No!” said Blake Lively, who was a Dan/Serena fan.
Leighton nodded, satisfied at the display of horror on the other woman’s face.
“This…is madness,” said Serena, shaking her head. “What are you doing?”
Blair smirked happily. “I’m writing,” she said loftily. “Actual literature, in fact. Involving deep philosophical questions to be pondered beyond the mere mundane meanings of the vocabulary of the words put to paper.” She paused, wondering if her use of words with more than two syllables in them had successfully confused the blonde. “You should try it sometime.”
“You’re screwing everything up!” Serena moaned. “They’re my characters, Blair! You can’t do this to them! You’re making them…weird!”
“You were the one who told me to write a sequel,” Blair replied bitchily, with an added dose of bitch for good measure. “So I’m writing a sequel!”
“I never told you to write a sequel! I never wanted you to write a sequel! I just wanted you to admit that you were wrong and that my story was perfect in the first place.”
Serena’s story, in retrospect, seemed perfectly capable of standing without the support of a sequel, but Blair Waldorf, once she was mired in the swampy depths of something, would never admit that she was wrong in the first place.
“Well, it’s being written,” Blair Waldorf smiled wickedly. “And there’s nothing you can do to stop it!”
“Think so?” Serena asked, and Blair saw, too late, the equally wicked gleam in her girlfriend’s eyes.
.
..
…
….
…..
“You started without me,” Dan said sulkily. “Is that how things are? I can’t do anything with either of you without the other one present, but the both of you can do things to each other when I’m not around?”
“It was her fault,” Blair said breathlessly, her face flushed and her breathing ragged. She raised a shaky hand, trying to straighten her hair. “I wanted nothing to do with it.”
“She made me do it,” Serena said defensively, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. “You should read what she was writing, Dan. It was…” The blonde shuddered. “Despicable.”
“You enjoyed it regardless,” Dan said accusingly. “The both of you, in fact.” And the worst part was that neither one of them had the decency to even look remotely guilty. At all.
“And now,” Blair Waldorf declared. “Back to Bleighton!”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Serena stared.
“Try me.”
“All right,” said Ed Westwick. This is a cinema trick, often executed with flawless precision to blur the shifting between the scenes – making it seem as if a statement made by a character a thousand miles away is being answered in real time by another character equally far away.
Audiences are easily impressed by stuff like this.
“What we have here,” he continued, “is a Love Potion.”
Blake and Leighton stared at him while Penn ducked out of view, stuffing his knuckles in his mouth.
“A love potion?” asked Blake.
“No,” said Ed patiently. “A Love Potion,” he corrected, somehow managing to pronounce the capital letters.
“And it will…make us fall in love?” asked Leighton, glancing at the dark red concoction in the man’s hand. “We’re already in love,” she objected.
“You misunderstand me. It’s not a Love Potion,” Ed replied. “It’s a Love Potion,” he continued, gyrating his hips to emphasize the italics. “It won’t make you fall in love…it will make you fall in love.”
He hesitated, seeing the blank looks on their faces. “It’ll make you have sex,” he snapped irritably, “With the person you drink it with. You’ll be consumed with a compulsive need to screw the life out of the other person drinking with you.”
“Oh,” said Leighton.
“Ohh,” said Blake.
“Well,” said Leighton, reaching for the chalice and holding it reverently in her hands. “Thank you so very much.”
“Very much,” said Blake Lively, who was already leading her girlfriend out the door. “Very, very much.”
They left. Very quickly.
“Well,” Penn smiled wickedly. “That was a job well done, I say.”
“Indeed,” said Ed. “Very well done.”
“I think we deserve a drink,” Penn said. He bent over, reaching for a decanter and pouring out two glasses of wine.
“To us,” said Ed Westwick, lifting the glass to his lips.
“And to Blake and Leighton,” said Penn. “May they have the time of their lives tonight.”
“And may they let us watch,” Ed smirked.
They drank. And I think you can probably guess what is coming next.
“Penn,” said Ed slowly. “This wine…it was from the chalice, yes?”
“No,” said Penn, who was feeling a little flushed. “It was from the decanter.” He stared at the glass, and then at Ed Westwick. Oh, dear merciful God, no…
The Dark Wizard had turned pale. “We,” he said, breathing heavily, “Shall never talk about this. Ever. Is that understood?” He was already loosening his breeches.
“Oh shit,” said Penn Badgley. “Oh shit oh shit oh shit.”
“I think it’s working,” Leighton said drowsily. “I mean, I’m feeling really warm right now. Hot, even.”
“You look hot,” Blake slurred. Her eyelids felt heavy. “I’m hot too.”
“We’re both hot,” Leighton giggled. “Two hot girls together.”
“Hot,” Blake agreed.
“We should…”
“Yeah,” Blake replied. She sauntered forward, a little unsteadily. “You’re beautiful.”
“You’re beautifuller.”
“You’re the life of my love, you know?” Blake mumbled. “I’ve never sheen…scene…sheen anyone as beautiful as…you.”
“Thish shtuff…ish really…poppen…pollen…potent, huh?” asked Leighton, as she weaved drunkenly towards the bed. “C’mere, you!”
“Let me…clothes my loosen first,” Blake stepped forward, and then stood in place, swaying on the spot. “It really ish warm.”
“Hmmm…”
“Leighton?” called Blake softly, as she crept on the bed and sank face first into the comfy pillow.
Her only answer was a soft snore.
Daniel Humphrey laid the papers on the table, and watched the visibly smirking Serena and the sulking Blair carefully.
“I’m not saying anything,” he said.
“You know it’s bad,” Serena said gleefully. “You know it’s worse than mine.”
“As if,” Blair scoffed.
“And mine’s longer,” Serena added, winking at the brunette. A long hand extended and pointed a finger triumphantly at Blair. “You lose, and I win!”
“Well…” Dan was aware that he was in a bit of a bind here. He glanced at the papers assembled in a neat pile in front of him. “It’s not too bad,” he tried. “I mean, anyone who started reading it would have thought that Blake and Leighton would end up having sex, instead of passing out drunk on the bed.”
“That was the initial idea,” Blair admitted.
“Then why didn’t you follow up on it?” Dan asked, puzzled. He watched bemusedly as Serena collapsed in a fit of giggles.
“What’s going on?” he asked again, completely lost.
“I tried to write a lesbian sex scene, all right?” Blair snapped angrily. “And when I did, I showed it to Serena.” A pause. “She laughed.”
“It was hilarious!” Serena emerged from her laughter long enough to choke the words out. “It was the worst sex scene ever written!”
“But…but…you’re having lesbian sex,” Dan pointed out. “All you have to do is write what it is that you do in it. Hell – even I can write a lesbian sex scene, and all I’ve done is watched you two!”
“Maybe she needs more practice!” Serena burst out, and even Dan had to grin at that.
“Laugh all you want,” Blair said ominously. “There will be consequences."
“Oh, come on, B,” Serena giggled. “You know you love me.”
“XOXO,” Dan added, earning a death glare from the brunette. A death glare that had the opposite effect of what the brunette had intended for it to do, because all it did was spur the other two on to continue.
“Gossip Girl,” they said together.
End Note : Thanks for reading. I really am sorry, and I'll make it up to you. Maybe I'll write a Waldsen or Bleighton fic that isn't crack. All I need is a plot. Someone suggest a plot for me. PM me on LJ or something.
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