round two: i'm learning your lesson (for doris)
title: I’m learning your lesson
recipient: doris
characters: blair-centric (mentions of serena, her parents, and nate, others more…less obvious.
rating: pg (mostly for angst, but with what I hope isn’t a hopeless ending which I know you didn’t want.)
word count: 600 and so.
summary: but then she learned what most didn’t. that it wasn’t the words that hurt the most, it was the silence.
a/n: written with these three elements in mind: mirrors, pretense, power and of course the big prompt, silence. Hopefully this is something like what you wanted, or hopefully you’ll enjoy it anyways if it wasn’t.
Words were painful.
More than that, they stung and left holes and jagged scars on her body that no one else could see. They were knives thrown with precise aim at her heart, to make her bleed, to make her hurt.
It was a lesson she learned early, though not like the others she was taught. Her manners and etiquette, that was easy, learning French by eleven too, and her mother teaching her that crying in public was not for people like them.
No, she learned this lesson herself.
By children, teenagers, and adults; the words that echoed around her, sometimes said in the heat of the moment and sometimes said just meant to hurt.
And they did.
It was easy, Blair thought, she was easy, an easy target.
But then she learned what most didn’t.
That it wasn’t the words that hurt the most, it was the silence.
Silence was far different from hurtful words. It wasn’t a knife thrown directly at her heart, instead it was jagged pieces of glass shattering around her, cutting into her skin, cutting into herself, no place left protected and nowhere to hide.
(“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” She doesn’t say.
And the mirror does not answer back “Serena.”
She still wipes the silent tears anyways.
The answer was never going to be her. It could never be her.)
Silence was different, found in so many different places, making her stomach turn and her head throb.
Silence was louder than anything else. It swallowed everything up until nothing was left but a ringing in her ears, ringing so tense it felt like it would break her ear drums.
It came after her parents stopped arguing and the apartment (home sweet home) fell into utter silence.
It came in the form of the words her mother didn’t say as she talked to her, the careful choices that she made when she formed her words. It came in the silences as they took their meals together and said almost nothing at all.
(When her mother was there at all.)
It came in the way that Nate would pull his hand away, turn away, or not bother returning her calls. It came when Serena disappeared and Blair had stack of letters that she never send and never would. It came when Serena never called, when she never wrote, never texted, never-
It came when her father disappeared from their lives and the phone calls were stilted with pauses and unfamiliarity’s. It came when she was alone in her room, alone in a restaurant, alone in a store surrounded by people.
Silence. It was always and would always be there. Long after the memory of her did disappeared. After the books and movies she loved died out and were replaced by things with no worthwhile message, no promises of love or devotion or a world full of nothing but words.
But silence, she found, was power.
It was something far more powerful than anything else she had come across in her life.
(Hurt much worse than anything else she could think of.)
And Blair believed in power.
In being powerful.
So she became powerful. (Not that she wasn’t already, of course.) She used silence, and choose her words more precisely not to injure but to maim,to break, and found a place high upon the steps, high above everyone else.
Silence is a terrible thing when used against you.
It leaves you alone, even when you’re not the only one there.
Silence when used against others. That made you into something else. It made you into something better. Made you powerful, made you envied, made you matter.
A simple gesture of her hand or a tilt of her head or a sly smile across the room. And suddenly she was Queen B.
(She may not be the fairest in the land as she looked in the mirror, but that did not make her the least powerful.
Power did not come from beauty or kindness alone.
No power, the power that counted, came from somewhere else. And she knew where to find it now. Maybe she always had.)
recipient: doris
characters: blair-centric (mentions of serena, her parents, and nate, others more…less obvious.
rating: pg (mostly for angst, but with what I hope isn’t a hopeless ending which I know you didn’t want.)
word count: 600 and so.
summary: but then she learned what most didn’t. that it wasn’t the words that hurt the most, it was the silence.
a/n: written with these three elements in mind: mirrors, pretense, power and of course the big prompt, silence. Hopefully this is something like what you wanted, or hopefully you’ll enjoy it anyways if it wasn’t.
Words were painful.
More than that, they stung and left holes and jagged scars on her body that no one else could see. They were knives thrown with precise aim at her heart, to make her bleed, to make her hurt.
It was a lesson she learned early, though not like the others she was taught. Her manners and etiquette, that was easy, learning French by eleven too, and her mother teaching her that crying in public was not for people like them.
No, she learned this lesson herself.
By children, teenagers, and adults; the words that echoed around her, sometimes said in the heat of the moment and sometimes said just meant to hurt.
And they did.
It was easy, Blair thought, she was easy, an easy target.
But then she learned what most didn’t.
That it wasn’t the words that hurt the most, it was the silence.
Silence was far different from hurtful words. It wasn’t a knife thrown directly at her heart, instead it was jagged pieces of glass shattering around her, cutting into her skin, cutting into herself, no place left protected and nowhere to hide.
(“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” She doesn’t say.
And the mirror does not answer back “Serena.”
She still wipes the silent tears anyways.
The answer was never going to be her. It could never be her.)
Silence was different, found in so many different places, making her stomach turn and her head throb.
Silence was louder than anything else. It swallowed everything up until nothing was left but a ringing in her ears, ringing so tense it felt like it would break her ear drums.
It came after her parents stopped arguing and the apartment (home sweet home) fell into utter silence.
It came in the form of the words her mother didn’t say as she talked to her, the careful choices that she made when she formed her words. It came in the silences as they took their meals together and said almost nothing at all.
(When her mother was there at all.)
It came in the way that Nate would pull his hand away, turn away, or not bother returning her calls. It came when Serena disappeared and Blair had stack of letters that she never send and never would. It came when Serena never called, when she never wrote, never texted, never-
It came when her father disappeared from their lives and the phone calls were stilted with pauses and unfamiliarity’s. It came when she was alone in her room, alone in a restaurant, alone in a store surrounded by people.
Silence. It was always and would always be there. Long after the memory of her did disappeared. After the books and movies she loved died out and were replaced by things with no worthwhile message, no promises of love or devotion or a world full of nothing but words.
But silence, she found, was power.
It was something far more powerful than anything else she had come across in her life.
(Hurt much worse than anything else she could think of.)
And Blair believed in power.
In being powerful.
So she became powerful. (Not that she wasn’t already, of course.) She used silence, and choose her words more precisely not to injure but to maim,to break, and found a place high upon the steps, high above everyone else.
Silence is a terrible thing when used against you.
It leaves you alone, even when you’re not the only one there.
Silence when used against others. That made you into something else. It made you into something better. Made you powerful, made you envied, made you matter.
A simple gesture of her hand or a tilt of her head or a sly smile across the room. And suddenly she was Queen B.
(She may not be the fairest in the land as she looked in the mirror, but that did not make her the least powerful.
Power did not come from beauty or kindness alone.
No power, the power that counted, came from somewhere else. And she knew where to find it now. Maybe she always had.)