Mailbox for Chuck Bass

Chuck was late, as well as drunk, when he finally found himself stumbling towards Eric's birthday party. But hey, little E was an Upper East Sider, he should know that you never showed up to a party on time, right? Desert island or not, some things never changed. And the bottle, well, that had been a necessity after this afternoon, when the ( Read more... )

By Upper East Side standards, a BYOB party was no party at all. But if there was one thing Chuck had learned, it was that here, you made do with what you had. And what he had was scotch. Good scotch. Having that made it easy to forget about the things he didn't have anymore - a father. A family. A home. As sorry and as broken as they'd been, they ( Read more... )

Chuck had the vague impression that a full day had gone by since he'd found his way to the empty hut, bottles in hand - it'd been getting dark when he'd left the compound, he remembered that, and it had been light when he'd woken the first time, slumped in the corner, the newspaper splayed on the floor from where it'd slipped from his hand when he' ( Read more... )

Eighteen. The age of majority. Nevermind that Chuck had been made a man (by the beast whose name he did not dare to speak, no less) in sixth grade; today he was, in the eyes of the world, his own man. If you'd asked him after he'd arrived on the island, nearly a year ago now, if he'd be celebrating today, he'd have laughed in your face. First it ( Read more... )

It really couldn't be called a 'party,' per se - parties implied an air of festivity that really wasn't present at this gathering. Yes, there was alcohol - lots of it - and music, although that was mainly to make it less awkward if the people present spent the entire evening not talking to each other. But mainly, what was going on in and around ( Read more... )

Jesus, these dorm room beds were small.

That was the first thing Chuck thought as he began to groggily surface from sleep. Dorm room beds were small, there was someone else in his, and most worryingly, it did not feel like a girl. With more than a little apprehension, he cracked one eye open just enough to see that the head next to his on the ( Read more... )

Day three of being a girl, and though the novelty had, by this time, worn a little thin, Chuck hadn't yet entirely lost his patience with it. It could hardly last much longer, and he was still determined to embrace his policy of enjoying it while it lasted. To that end, he'd decided to make good use of some of the liquor that the island had ( Read more... )

Post for the "Between the Lines" meme. From the instructions:

What this meme is all about is expanding on that, to better create a personal history that you can then use to better build personal development. To paraphrase Lindsay, "it's not intended to be a way of avoiding/handwaving actual threads but rather a way of kickstarting them and ( Read more... )

All in all, being a girl was definitely not as difficult as Chuck would have normally anticipated. Granted, his shower took about three times as long as usual, and he'd discovered that putting a bra on one's self was not as easy as taking one off someone else, but all in all the clothing box had been cooperative, and he'd managed to make it out of ( Read more... )