when you kiss me, oh [blair/vanessa]
title: When You Kiss Me, Oh
rating: PG
fandom/pairing: Gossip Girl. Vanessa/Blair.
spoilers: n/a?
warnings: Unpleasant views of ~le Brooklyn; brief usage of a slutshamy word.
summary: Blair has an unexpected taste to her lips.
words: 248
disclaimer: I do not own Gossip Girl, or Lady Gaga's "Yoü and I".
a/n: For the femslash100challenge word "sweet".
Vanessa had never really thought that Blair Waldorf would be the type of girl for flavored lip glosses. Not that she had spent a lot of her time thinking about what Blair might have applied to her lips, and what they might have tasted like, but - it never seemed like something that would be her style.
Blair was supposed to be the epitome of the uptown girl. She was supposed to be classy, with lips cherry red that tasted chalky like lipstick and who smelled like some artificial flower with a lab-created scent packaged by an artist’s interpretation of an imaginary plant. She was supposed to be above all the cheap, pink lip glosses and strawberry chapsticks of Brooklyn - if she wasn’t, then the whole illusion (the illusion of them versus us, of cultural divides within the city and of the natural order of their respective worlds and their involvements with one another) was shattered.
But she tastes like cotton candy - not real cotton candy; what the makers of the girliest cosmetics seem to think that cotton candy tastes like - and Vanessa can’t say she doesn’t like it.
In a weird way, it makes Blair taste familiar, like home with skanky girls and ugly knockoffs of uglier designer originals that no one in what Vanessa deems “the right mind” would pay thousands of dollars for. So Vanessa savors it, even when Blair blanches and tries to splutter an explanation for her foray into the land of the Classless.
rating: PG
fandom/pairing: Gossip Girl. Vanessa/Blair.
spoilers: n/a?
warnings: Unpleasant views of ~le Brooklyn; brief usage of a slutshamy word.
summary: Blair has an unexpected taste to her lips.
words: 248
disclaimer: I do not own Gossip Girl, or Lady Gaga's "Yoü and I".
a/n: For the femslash100challenge word "sweet".
Vanessa had never really thought that Blair Waldorf would be the type of girl for flavored lip glosses. Not that she had spent a lot of her time thinking about what Blair might have applied to her lips, and what they might have tasted like, but - it never seemed like something that would be her style.
Blair was supposed to be the epitome of the uptown girl. She was supposed to be classy, with lips cherry red that tasted chalky like lipstick and who smelled like some artificial flower with a lab-created scent packaged by an artist’s interpretation of an imaginary plant. She was supposed to be above all the cheap, pink lip glosses and strawberry chapsticks of Brooklyn - if she wasn’t, then the whole illusion (the illusion of them versus us, of cultural divides within the city and of the natural order of their respective worlds and their involvements with one another) was shattered.
But she tastes like cotton candy - not real cotton candy; what the makers of the girliest cosmetics seem to think that cotton candy tastes like - and Vanessa can’t say she doesn’t like it.
In a weird way, it makes Blair taste familiar, like home with skanky girls and ugly knockoffs of uglier designer originals that no one in what Vanessa deems “the right mind” would pay thousands of dollars for. So Vanessa savors it, even when Blair blanches and tries to splutter an explanation for her foray into the land of the Classless.