There isn’t much logic to that. He hit the scene after she hit puberty, after all, and things like daddy issues and penchants for mischief go back to childhood. But still - sometimes he remembers Blair Waldorf glowering at him on the doorstep in a nightgown with a neckline so high you would’ve thought she belonged to a convent, watching the way Serena was hanging around his neck, he remembers leave her the hell alone -
And maybe he should have. You know?
-
Carter sees a lot of himself in that silly little teenager with the girly laugh and legs that should be illegal at her age. He sees someone whose future plans correspond with his own: this is what I will not be, never mind what I will
( ... )
They’re in bed on the evening of her thirtieth birthday; Carter’s pretending to read the paper, Serena’s got her knees pulled to her chest, staring at nothing. She looks over at him and tells him that she’s okay.
He feels caught, like she knows that he’s been raiding every drawer, counting every pill.
Then she says, You can go.
She looks so young to him right then, her face scrubbed clean of makeup and her chin on her knee.
I don’t want to, he finally says, and that’s the third time in his life that Serena ever cries in front of him
( ... )
Yeah it's dark but I was asking for it with this prompt, haha. THIS IS GLORIOUS. I love how fucked up they are, how bad he feels about it, how much of that really was his influence and how he's just realizing that now. I think that really highlights their age difference, which is notable at 14/17 or 14/18 or whatever the exact number is.
I'm sitting here, completely speechless, trying to find words to describe the level of perfection of this little piece of flawless writing (oh god, it's so poetic). I love how it comes to a full circle with the beginning and the end and gods, just so perfect.
I hadn't ready Serena/Carter before, but I'm pretty sure I hit jackpot with this one. It's dark, but amazingly so. I love how things differ and how things are the same and connect with the show.
He blames himself for Serena, sometimes.
There isn’t much logic to that. He hit the scene after she hit puberty, after all, and things like daddy issues and penchants for mischief go back to childhood. But still - sometimes he remembers Blair Waldorf glowering at him on the doorstep in a nightgown with a neckline so high you would’ve thought she belonged to a convent, watching the way Serena was hanging around his neck, he remembers leave her the hell alone -
And maybe he should have. You know?
-
Carter sees a lot of himself in that silly little teenager with the girly laugh and legs that should be illegal at her age. He sees someone whose future plans correspond with his own: this is what I will not be, never mind what I will ( ... )
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They’re in bed on the evening of her thirtieth birthday; Carter’s pretending to read the paper, Serena’s got her knees pulled to her chest, staring at nothing. She looks over at him and tells him that she’s okay.
He feels caught, like she knows that he’s been raiding every drawer, counting every pill.
Then she says, You can go.
She looks so young to him right then, her face scrubbed clean of makeup and her chin on her knee.
I don’t want to, he finally says, and that’s the third time in his life that Serena ever cries in front of him ( ... )
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