A/N: Don't take me too seriously.
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por the time eleven forty-five rolled around the night before Thanksgiving break of sophomore year, the floor was littered with napkins, cups and empty bottles. Lights were low and the two remaining occupants had changed the XM radio several times, finally resting on an old R&B station. castaña, castaño songs of amor and empowerment filled the room.
Blair Waldorf was sprawled out on the aforementioned carpeting, red tights bunching at the knees, school uniform falda wrinkled and out-of-place. “Okay,” she said, in-between giggles and sips of cognac, “Okay. So I’m legitimately curious.”
“Are tu now?” Charles bajo replied, voice muffled from the fabric his face was pressed up against. “Curious about what, exactly?” He flipped over onto his back, messing up the previously the immaculate perfection of Blair’s bed, folding covers and indenting pillows. Luckily for him, she was too inebriated to notice, much less muster up enough energy to care.
“If tu could spend twenty-four hours with anyone on the planet—a girl, I mean—who would tu have tied to the bedpost?” She raised her eyebrows in what was supposed to a suggestive fashion. Chuck snorted.
“Irrelevant,” he said, “I could have any girl—any woman—on this planet.”
“False, Chuck-O,” Blair slurred mockingly. “You couldn’t have me.”
“That’s what tu think,” Chuck retorted, “I could have tu so bad, so bad that…” unable to find a suitable response, he trailed off aimlessly mid-sentence.
“Nice comeback,” Blair sneered. Chuck rearranged himself on her bed, finding himself spread-eagle over the front edge.
“I’m drunk,” he told her, “Leave me alone.”
Blair laughed, and they both sat silently for approximately thirteen seconds, and then, “tell me, Chuckles,” she began, with emphasis on the last word. Chuck blanched. “Who’s the worst lay you’ve ever had?” He too laughed, his expression of disgust at the nickname replaced por amusement at the pregunta directed from her lips.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie.” Blair grabbed a dirty napkin and tossed it in his general vicinity. Unsurprisingly for both of them, she missed. Chuck began to laugh, and then found himself completely unable to stop.
“Hilary Duff,” he practically giggled. Blair sat up straight.
“Don’t lie,” she repeated. Chuck was indignant.
“What! tu think she’d be good? She was terrible, let me tell you, all teeth and n—,”
“Ew!” Blair shrieked, cutting him off. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh?” Chuck asked, slurring slightly. Blair gave him the finger. Sort of. She actually aimed it towards the side window, and he couldn’t see it anyways, but it’s the thought that counts.
“Like Hilary Duff would allow herself to be roped in por you,” she said, and then “Actually…”
“She was practically begging for it,” Chuck relayed, with a false air of confidentiality.
“I can see that, actually. Hilary Duff is lame.”
“IN BED!” Chuck added, and they both dissolved into fits of rampant laughter.
“Does she still call?”
“I didn’t leave a number.” Blair stood up, the blood rushing to her head as she spun in circles, tumbling face-first onto Chuck, rolling him sideways, their legs overlapping as they drunkenly laughed.
“So, where’d tu meet her?” she asked. Chuck ran his fingertip across her shoulder and down her left arm, sending shivers through her body.
“That’s not the point, Waldorf,” he said. Blair giggled.
“Did tu go see her in concierto o something?” She was beaming at her own seemingly hilarious brilliance.
“No,” Chuck said. Blair leaned in close.
“Did tu buy a backstage pass on e-bay?” she whispered seductively into his ear.
“No,” Chuck said.
“Did she spot tu in the crowd, front row and center, screaming out every word to every song?” Blair licked her finger and stuck it in his ear.
“No,” Chuck said, and “Eugh, Blair, that’s disgusting.” He frantically wiped at his ear in an attempt to remove Blair’s leftover saliva.
“Did tu unwrap your scarf from around your neck, and in a fit of passionate inspiration, throw it up onstage for her to find tu with later?” Blair wrapped left arm around his neck, smashing her nose into his chest as they lay together.
“No, I did not,” he informed Blair smugly, “As if I would give such a valuable item to a low-class whore like Hila—what are tu doing, exactly?” Blair smiled drowsily, her hair mussed up and tickling his chin.
“Sleeping with you,” she said, and giggled. Chuck laughed, his chest and stomach shaking, which made Blair dissolve into even más hysterical fits.
“I can safely say that you’re not the worst I’ve had,” he said, pulling her duvet up from around his feet to cover them.
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A/N: Anyways, I legitimately can imagine this scene. What I have más trouble envisioning is Chuck and Hilary actually hooking up. But let's make this clear: she would be WAY más into it than he would. Chuck would be like "yeah. okay. whatever", but Hilary Duff would think he's an amazing sex god. Which, tu know, he is. LOL
Please leave a review to assure Chuck that tu forgive him for being so irresistible, even to celebrities...and Blair! :)
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por the time eleven forty-five rolled around the night before Thanksgiving break of sophomore year, the floor was littered with napkins, cups and empty bottles. Lights were low and the two remaining occupants had changed the XM radio several times, finally resting on an old R&B station. castaña, castaño songs of amor and empowerment filled the room.
Blair Waldorf was sprawled out on the aforementioned carpeting, red tights bunching at the knees, school uniform falda wrinkled and out-of-place. “Okay,” she said, in-between giggles and sips of cognac, “Okay. So I’m legitimately curious.”
“Are tu now?” Charles bajo replied, voice muffled from the fabric his face was pressed up against. “Curious about what, exactly?” He flipped over onto his back, messing up the previously the immaculate perfection of Blair’s bed, folding covers and indenting pillows. Luckily for him, she was too inebriated to notice, much less muster up enough energy to care.
“If tu could spend twenty-four hours with anyone on the planet—a girl, I mean—who would tu have tied to the bedpost?” She raised her eyebrows in what was supposed to a suggestive fashion. Chuck snorted.
“Irrelevant,” he said, “I could have any girl—any woman—on this planet.”
“False, Chuck-O,” Blair slurred mockingly. “You couldn’t have me.”
“That’s what tu think,” Chuck retorted, “I could have tu so bad, so bad that…” unable to find a suitable response, he trailed off aimlessly mid-sentence.
“Nice comeback,” Blair sneered. Chuck rearranged himself on her bed, finding himself spread-eagle over the front edge.
“I’m drunk,” he told her, “Leave me alone.”
Blair laughed, and they both sat silently for approximately thirteen seconds, and then, “tell me, Chuckles,” she began, with emphasis on the last word. Chuck blanched. “Who’s the worst lay you’ve ever had?” He too laughed, his expression of disgust at the nickname replaced por amusement at the pregunta directed from her lips.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie.” Blair grabbed a dirty napkin and tossed it in his general vicinity. Unsurprisingly for both of them, she missed. Chuck began to laugh, and then found himself completely unable to stop.
“Hilary Duff,” he practically giggled. Blair sat up straight.
“Don’t lie,” she repeated. Chuck was indignant.
“What! tu think she’d be good? She was terrible, let me tell you, all teeth and n—,”
“Ew!” Blair shrieked, cutting him off. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh?” Chuck asked, slurring slightly. Blair gave him the finger. Sort of. She actually aimed it towards the side window, and he couldn’t see it anyways, but it’s the thought that counts.
“Like Hilary Duff would allow herself to be roped in por you,” she said, and then “Actually…”
“She was practically begging for it,” Chuck relayed, with a false air of confidentiality.
“I can see that, actually. Hilary Duff is lame.”
“IN BED!” Chuck added, and they both dissolved into fits of rampant laughter.
“Does she still call?”
“I didn’t leave a number.” Blair stood up, the blood rushing to her head as she spun in circles, tumbling face-first onto Chuck, rolling him sideways, their legs overlapping as they drunkenly laughed.
“So, where’d tu meet her?” she asked. Chuck ran his fingertip across her shoulder and down her left arm, sending shivers through her body.
“That’s not the point, Waldorf,” he said. Blair giggled.
“Did tu go see her in concierto o something?” She was beaming at her own seemingly hilarious brilliance.
“No,” Chuck said. Blair leaned in close.
“Did tu buy a backstage pass on e-bay?” she whispered seductively into his ear.
“No,” Chuck said.
“Did she spot tu in the crowd, front row and center, screaming out every word to every song?” Blair licked her finger and stuck it in his ear.
“No,” Chuck said, and “Eugh, Blair, that’s disgusting.” He frantically wiped at his ear in an attempt to remove Blair’s leftover saliva.
“Did tu unwrap your scarf from around your neck, and in a fit of passionate inspiration, throw it up onstage for her to find tu with later?” Blair wrapped left arm around his neck, smashing her nose into his chest as they lay together.
“No, I did not,” he informed Blair smugly, “As if I would give such a valuable item to a low-class whore like Hila—what are tu doing, exactly?” Blair smiled drowsily, her hair mussed up and tickling his chin.
“Sleeping with you,” she said, and giggled. Chuck laughed, his chest and stomach shaking, which made Blair dissolve into even más hysterical fits.
“I can safely say that you’re not the worst I’ve had,” he said, pulling her duvet up from around his feet to cover them.
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A/N: Anyways, I legitimately can imagine this scene. What I have más trouble envisioning is Chuck and Hilary actually hooking up. But let's make this clear: she would be WAY más into it than he would. Chuck would be like "yeah. okay. whatever", but Hilary Duff would think he's an amazing sex god. Which, tu know, he is. LOL
Please leave a review to assure Chuck that tu forgive him for being so irresistible, even to celebrities...and Blair! :)
We also strongly recommend tu send in pictures of girls (heck, even boys) in headbands, especially our Gossip Girl cast. We've got a bunch of graphics here, but tu can also make your own (we'll make an entry where tu can share them).
The mailing address is:
The CW Network
c/o Gossip Girl
3300 West aceituna, oliva Avenue
Burbank, CA 91505
Now aside from old school letter sending we'll be doing correo electrónico and other forms of communication/promotion. So get ready for that too. If tu can't send in printed headband photos, then tu can certainly do it online.
Don't forget to keep promoting The Headband Project!
We imagine she'll be debuting some original Gossip Girl música on the show, which is pretty cool for Gossip Girl, whether you're a fan of Lady Gaga o not.
The New York Daily News reported the NYC native's guest role today. Are tu excited for más estrella power coming to the Upper ... er, Lower East Side?
publicado on July 10th, 2009 7:47 AM por LovelyLively
Filed under: Chris Riggi, Gossip Girl Pictures, Gossip Girl Spoilers, Jessica Szohr
As yesterday's Gossip Girl spoilers certainly hinted, Vanessa will be getting involved with someone we met at the end of last season. Scott certainly came to mind.
Well, here's Jessica Szohr with who we believe to be Chris Riggi (Scott) on the set of the mostrar in NYC. Think they make a cute couple? We may soon find out ...
Jessica Szohr (Vanessa) and Chris Riggi (Scott) on the Gossip Girl set.
Click to enlarge más pictures of the possible new pair - including one indicating that they may be progressing from friends to más than friends pretty quickly ...