#she had the best constance uniform game it is known | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years ago

Note

reader being best friends with carter while he's chasing serena but also being in love with him?

CARTER BAIZEN APPRECIATION SQUAD ASSEMBLE! (i promise i’ll get to non carter requests)

y/n and carter had known each other for a while

they had met during a summer at the hamptons when his parents invited her family over for dinner

she had helped him inside the house after returning from a particular night out which to his parents was a meeting with some of his friends to go over stuff for the new school year

from then onwards carter and y/n became friends

he would meet her in the back of her parents apartment and the two would drive around the nights of new york talking about their problems

it hadn’t taken long for y/n to fall in love with him

he was an attractive, smart man who seemed to have more goals other than the vapid boys she knew from st.judes

it wasn’t like she expected him to return her affections. she was his sister’s age, 3 years younger. she knew he wouldn’t be interested so she hid it deep inside her heart where no one would see it

after all she’d rather have a tiny bit of his heart than have to pretend he never existed

maybe she should’ve seen it coming that he would leave, but she didn’t and one afternoon as she knocked on his door to pick him up to go for their weekly lunch at his favourite spot was the moment she wished she could’ve avoided it

it was his mother who had opened the door, tight smile on her face, pity in her eyes as she stared at the girl in front of her “do you not know, sweetheart?” “am i supposed to know something?” “he left. says he doesn’t want anything to do with this family anymore”

her heart stopped for a while, the buzzing sound of her mind wondering why, why he wouldn’t tell her

it had been his sister caroline who had helped her through it, telling her he wasn’t even worth the hazzle, to instead focus on the much more attractive boys her age attending st.judes

y/n wasn’t interested but as time flew by she slowly learned to accept that he wasn’t returning

she had built a life for herself, becoming one of constance’s shining stars holding near perfect grades

she had also built a friendship with blair waldorf after serena had left her, both of them bonding over having someone leaving unexpectedly

“my mum was supposed to host a tea party for CeCe and she went to paris. usual” “do you need any help?” “wanna come? might make it less boring besides you still need a date for cotillion“ “well not everyone can have nate archibald for a date” “i am pretty lucky aren’t i? but you need a date, you cannot not have an escort. even serena is taking ... dan” “alright, i’ll go to the tea party” “perfect”

she should’ve not gone. she should’ve just accepted caroline’s invitation to go shop for a cotillion dress but she didn’t. she couldn’t see the future.

as she walked off the lift into the van der woodsen’s apartment, a familiar face showed, sat in a couch surrounded by girls

“y/n” blair rushed over to her side “i don’t want to frighten you but ... carter’s here” “i’ve seen.” “i want you to know that i didn’t invite him. cece invited him, she wants him to be serena’s escort.” “that’s fine” “are you sure? i could kick him out” “that’s fine”

it wasn’t fine.

she spent the whole tea party as further from him as possible, not sure of what to say to him or how to even react

although she had to admit it broke her heart that he wasn’t interested in even talking to her, instead looking her way and immediately turning to receive the praise of several girls

“he’s not even that attractive” blair rolled her eyes at her minions which were fauning over him “urgh, imagine being attracted to a wannabe matthew mcconaughey” “you don’t have to make me feel better, blair” “look at that last season suit. disgusting”

she stayed until the end of the party, chatting up with several people who came to ask about her family business and by the end of the party she had even started to help the maids bring dirty dishes into the kitchen

“you were always an odd one, i have to give you that” a voice made her drop the porcelain onto the soapy water and turn her face towards its direction. carter. “y/n, i’m really sorry” “yeah i could tell since you didn’t call or write after you left” “i didn’t have any way to contact you” “you didn’t even tell me you were leaving carter. do you know how it felt walking up to your house and having your mother tell me you left?” “i had to go y/n” “so have i, carter.”

she didn’t want to speak with him, she didn’t want to fall back into the state

at least she had decided not to speak with him until nate punched him at cotillion

“you look like shit” “thanks, y/n.” “i gotta say, i wanted to do that myself. nate stole that away from me” “how long are you gonna be upset with me, y/n?” “as long as i want” “c’mon, let’s do something together” “i said i would act civilised with you not lobotomised” “c’mon, y/n. i’ll pay” “do you even have any money? didn’t your parents cut you off?” “i’ll find a way” “... fine. the bar of the lotte new york palace

blair and caroline had told her not to go but she thought that it would be better to get it over and done with. to call it water under the bridge and not have him haunt her what ifs anymore

she found him at the bar of the palace, black suit on. he never used to wear suits, she still remembers him in his messy st. judes uniform, undone tie all the time

“you came” “i said i would” “i know you have every single reason to hate me but i miss you, y/n. i really do. i have so much to tell you” “some people would use a journal” “i fucked up, i know but ... second chance? you can punch me too if you want” “that’s a really good offer, i think i’m gonna pounder it” “how about i pick you up tomorrow night? late driving around new york” “you got yourself a deal, baizen”

soon enough she found herself in the same situation, still in love with him

he was still the same man, still the same chuckle, talking passionately about his projects, making stupid jokes

but one thing still was the same, the same thing she didn’t want to accept, he still would never reciprocate her feelings

“y/n, i can’t pick you up tonight. i have a date with serena.” “serena van der woodsen?” “yeah, do you mind?” “uh ... no... sure, go on”

her blood boiled out of jealousy

she always thought the reason he would never reciprocate her feelings was because she was younger but serena, serena was the same age as her and it stung, it stung so badly

she ended up at the house of the same person who could understand being jealous of serena : blair waldorf’s

“oh, please, y/n. seriously? carter? he’s so ... boring. god” “well i’m sorry blair not everyone can have their first time in the backseat of a limo with chuck bass” “hey now that nate is single maybe you should go out with him” “i’m not gonna go out with nate” “why you two would make such a nice couple” “i’m not in love with nate” “i’m sorry, y/n.”

she pretended it was okay

she would smile whenever he talked about serena

she would be next to him when she undoubtedly got him inside her petty little games with chuck

she would be there when he quit her and she would be there when he took her back

she was there for everything until one morning where she was woken up by someone banging on her door

“nate?” “something happened and you might want to sit down” “what happened? are you okay?” “serena left with carter last afternoon” “what do you mean?” “they left y/n, together.”

suddenly she found herself in the same spot she had been years ago abandoned

he returned later that summer during the races but this time she didn’t forgive him

she spent the day with dan and blair, mindlessly listening to serena talking about how carter followed her but she knew better

she knew they’d be back together and surely again they were

carter should feel happy, serena was back but he didn’t feel better

he felt ... empty, like something was lacking

whenever he laid down next to her and feel asleep he dreamed of y/n

he dreamed of her vintage oversized tees reaching her knees as she read her favourite books in his study

he dreamed of her laughter whenever he took her to a driver in theatre, fingers holding popcorns to her lips

he dreamed of her red tinted lips during festivities, dancing under streetlights singing showtunes, bitting her lips whenever she had a test

he convinced himself it was just missing her but part of him knew it wasn’t that

he should be with serena, her family approved, his family approved

so he stuck it out, convincing himself this was a phase just a phase

as serena dumped him on the side of the street he looked at the streetlight, remembering y/n in an oversized cardigan jumping puddles over it, twirling around it playfully

“what am i doing?”

he rushed down the streets of the upper east side like a mad man

he’d never walked this long

but he kept on walking, he kept on walking until he saw her apartment

he knocked on the door for what felt like a hundred times

“i’m coming” he could hear her sleepy voice from the other side and sure enough, soon enough the sound of her steps became too loud and she opened the door “carter, what are y...” “let me just say something okay? then you can shut the door” “it’s 1 AM” “please” “20 seconds” “i’m sorry, y/n. i’m so sorry, i should’ve told you when i left years ago, i shouldn’t have left with serena. i should’ve stayed with you. you always listened to me, you always believed in me and i always let you down. i miss you, i miss having fights with you about star wars plots, speaking with you on the phone at 5 AM, trying to make you laugh when you were upset. i miss seeing your sleepy smile every single morning, i miss you” “carter” “all this time being with her i just kept thinking about doing those things with you. taking you to cotillion, dance with you, be at your graduation and help you move into college, take you to fancy bars and restaurants, buy you flowers and everything else money can afford and i missed out on it, i missed out on it and i cannot give them to you. but here’s what i propose ... i wanna be there when you graduate from college, i wanna be there to help you move into your very first apartment, i want to be there when you start your first job, i wanna be there for you.” “you’re not one to stick around, carter” “let me try, please let me try” “isn’t this your third chance?” “i will ask you for a million chances as long as i get to see you for the rest of my life”

#carter baizen headcanons #carter baizen headcanon #sebastian stan

45 notes · View notes

positivelyominous · 5 years ago

Text

Oxfordshire - 2008 AD (Again)

(Previous) (First)

Azruba’al stumbled hastily out of the cab and tugged nervously at his bowtie. To remove at least a little complication from the evening, he had assumed the form he’d first met the current generation of Sisters in. Cutting around the back of St. Beryl’s Church, Azruba’al jogged to the rear entrance, clutching the picnic basket tightly in his arms. There was a man sitting on the little terrace there, next to the dustbins, smoking a pipe and looking troubled. He glanced up at Azruba’al as he approached and made to greet him.

“Er, hullo–“

“So sorry, can’t stop to chat, very late.”

The man next to the dustbins watched the other man’s form disappear into the building. He let out a small, helpless puff of smoke. First the unexpected contractions, then the oddly behaving staff, and now some strange fellow in a big coat rushing through the back doors with a picnic basket. Mr. Young had liked the look of the hospital when he’d brought his wife inside; it was clean and modern -but not too modern- and the presence of the nuns gave it a warm, serene feeling. But now he was wondering if everything was all right after all…

⧗

“Blast that stupid machine,” Azruba’al snarled under his breath, striding through the empty hallway, “Half an hour late, I am half an hour late! Please don’t have started without– well, they wouldn’t, would they? I mean they couldn’–“

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he nearly ran right into a black-robed figure coming around the corner.

“Oh! Good grievance, I–“

“Master Azruba’al! You’ve come at last!”

The demon in question straightened up, a look of relief brightening his pudgy features.

“It’s so nice to see you again,” said the nun, who was known amongst her Sisters as Mary Loquacious*, and was preparing to live up to her name, “I was barely out of Sunday school the first time– Hell’s teeth, you haven’t aged a bit! I–“

“Yes, yes, it’s lovely to see you again too, dear girl,” Azruba’al interrupted, quickly. He knew what would happen if he let her pick up steam, “I am rather late, I believe?”

“Oh yes, forty-six minutes and twenty-six seconds exactly,” Mary replied, with a cursory glance at the watch pinned to her breast.

Azruba’al scowled, “Right, you’d best be quick about it, then.”

He pressed the basket into Mary’s arms, “Here he is. Get him to the Cultural Attaché as quick as you can.”

“Oh my star– this– it’s him? The Adversary? Destroyer of Kings? Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is Called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Dark–“

“Hell’s sake, yes! Yes, it’s him, now hop along, there’s a good girl,” cried Azruba’al, nearly pushing the woman back around the corner, “We don’t want him to be forty-seven minutes late, do we?”

“Of course not, Master Azruba’al,” said Mary Loquacious, lifting one of the lids of the basket to peek at the Long String of Epithets That We Shall Hence Refer To As The Adversary, “Ohh, look at him! He’s got his daddy’s complexion!��

“They’re all like that at first,” said Azruba’al absentmindedly.

“No horns, though,” she remarked.

“I’m leaving, now,” said Azruba’al, letting go of the woman’s shoulders.

“Too young for fangs, and– oh! Yes, Satan keep you! Good night!”

Azruba’al was gone before she’d finished speaking. Mary gave a little shiver of excitement and bustled quickly down the hall. She could hardly believe it. Here she was, Sister Mary Loquacious-You’d-Best-Not-Get-It-Wrong-Again, cradling The Adversary. For all her years as a Satanist -which were indeed all of them, having been born into the faith- she’d never imagined that she would be at the thick of their greatest hour. No more tea-and-cookies duty for her. Speaking of, she’d meant to take a tin to the American Cultural Attaché…

“There you are!”

Sister Mary’s thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a very flustered Sister Grace Voluble.

“They’re getting antsy in there, they think something’s wrong! Have you got the– oh, for Hell’s sake, Mary, just a tin! They don’t need a whole picnic!”

Mary glanced down in confusion before puffing up a little, smugly, “I don’t have cookies. I don’t have a picnic, either. What I’ve got is the One We’ve All Been Waiting For, The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of––“

“Oh, thank the Fallen One,” interrupted Sister Grace, making to snatch the basket out of Mary’s hands.

Mary drew away, indignantly, “Master Azruba’al has entrusted me with the Child.”

Sister Grace looked as if she was about to argue, before thinking better of it.

“Well you had best get him to the nursery and tag him so we can deliver him to his ‘parents’. We can’t pretend to be weighing them forever.”

Mary nodded primly and marched towards the nursery.

There is a game teachers use to explain probability to their pupils. Each child receives a chart and a bag with a variable amount of red and blue tokens inside. They are instructed to remove a single token from the bag without looking, note its colour on the chart, then put it back in and repeat to their hearts content†. The point of the exercise is to show that the probability of drawing a red token or a blue token changes depending on how many of each token there are. For example, if there were two blue tokens, and one red token, it would be less likely to draw out the red token without looking. It would be even less likely, say, if someone painted the red token blue by mistake. Even if you were looking straight at the tokens, you wouldn’t be able to tell them apart.

There were three rosy-pink babies in three blue swaths resting in three hospital bassinets. Sister Mary had just wheeled in the last one, the most important one, and was heading towards the worktable for a pen and a tag. At that moment, another Sister entered.

“Mary! What are you doing in– oh! That’s all three, thank Bowels, we can finally send them off!”

Before Mary could protest that she hadn’t tagged the Adversary yet, and what if he got misplaced, the newly arrived Sister was chivying her out of the room, insisting she get those biscuits.

Mary let out a deep, disappointed sigh as the nursery door slammed behind her. Well. At least she’d get to meet the Cultural Attaché.

⧗

Mr. Young had returned to room three by this time. He found his wife asleep, and no baby to speak of. Luckily, a nearby nun explained that the child had been taken away to be examined, and Mr. Young decided it best to retire to his wife’s side in case she woke up and panicked in the interim. By the time his son was finished being ‘examined’ and was delivered into the grateful arms of a flustered Mrs. Young, Mr. Young felt as if he’d been there for an eternity. And it was about to get longer.

“Hello! Oh, your Lady wife’s awake, then, good!”

Another nun was bustling into the room, bringing with her a tin and the air of someone who was about to sit down for a long, enthusiastic chat.

⧗

Harriet Dowling was laying in a cot in room four, surrounded by a complement of six security men in imposing black uniforms. One of them was carrying the latest and greatest in videotelephone technology, through which Harriet was meant to see her husband, the American Cultural Attaché. Thaddeus Dowling was technically on the line. He just wasn’t there visually. Spiritually, he was sandwiched next to his wife with a cool cloth and a strong hand to squeeze. Physically, he was on a business trip.

It was Sister Faith Prolix who was the first to congratulate Harriet, and, coincidentally, the first to suggest a name for the baby now cradled comfortably in his mothers arms.

Wormwood was a bit unconventional, yes, but the kindly Sister Faith was ever so convincing. Besides, Harriet didn’t much feel like naming the child ‘Thaddeus’ at that point.

⧗

The demon Azruba’al hurried through the night, too distracted to even think of calling another cab. He needed to make an urgent phonecall. A phonecall his people wouldn’t be too pleased about, but hopefully one they’d never discover.

⧗

There was a third baby. It didn’t have a tag, and presumably, didn’t need one.

Sister Constance Pleonastic had it in the backseat of the church’s old station wagon, driving it down the darkened midnight road. There were only two families, after all.

“I really can’t believe it’s finally come,” she prattled on to herself, faithfully upholding her convent’s chiefest tradition, “What a time to be alive. My grandmother would have killed to be in my place… if those Warrens hadn’t got her first.”

There was an orphanage in the nearby town. There was also a lake. The baby in the backseat was growing fussy. It could feel that something was wrong, somehow. This was not the same dark, rumbling thing it had been in before, and the endless, droning voice did not belong to the gentle hands that had wrapped it in soft blue.

It wasn’t quite ready to be the The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is Called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness. It wouldn’t be for another eleven years. It did, however, possess something of a defence mechanism to ensure that it at least had a chance of getting there.

And so it was that at that moment precisely, a large black cat came padding out of the bushes on the side of the road and into Sister Constance’s headlights.

The cat yowled. The station wagon swerved.

GOOD EVENING, SISTER CONSTANCE, said Death, helping a very dazed Sister Constance Pleonastic up from her body, I AM SURE YOU ARE VERY DISAPPOINTED. BUT TAKE HEART THAT YOU WILL STILL HAVE A SEAT TO THE FINAL SPECTACLE, EVEN IF IT IS LOWER THAN THE ONE YOU HAD PREVIOUSLY.

After sending the unfortunate woman on her way, Death was preparing to leave for his next appointment when something else at the scene caught his attention. Not a death; those were a constant everywhere you went. Creatures big and small; something was always dying. No, this thing was quite unorthodox, as it existed in the living world. There was wailing from the backseat of the ruined car. A wailing that Death would have ignored, had it not come from this particular source.

Death knelt in the wreckage, gently pushed aside the cushion of airbags, and lifted a blue bundle into his arms.

I DID NOT EXPECT US TO MEET SO SOON, he said, thoughtfully, as the child immediately quieted in his embrace, BUT I SUPPOSE IT IS NOT AGAINST THE RULES. I HAVE YET TO RIDE. AND YOU HAVE YET TO CALL ME.

Even still, the child needed protection. It needed a home.

Without another word, Death drew a pitch-black wing of oblivion over the infant, and the both of them disappeared, leaving nothing behind but the smouldering wreck.

———————————————————————————————————

*It was called a Chattering Order for a reason. To explain it properly, however, one would have to do the authorial equivalent of joining up. Hopefully, the name says it all.

†Certain hearts grow content faster than others.

#good omens #reverse omens #Bearing Apples (Azruba’al)#Remains of the Day (DEATH)#Vademecum Casus Belli (Chattering Order)

2 notes · View notes

elites-hq · 7 years ago

Text

stacie evans. ● sophomore. ( 16. ) ● bisexual. ● fc: annasophia robb. ● taken.

❝ Little S is just enamored with the Upper East Side. Home life in a shabby Brooklyn apartment is a little too quaint for the handmaiden to Rachel and Kurt. Stacie yearns to get a seat on the steps of the Met, so she’s been trying to hide her scholarship roots and non-designer clothing items. But the role of minion isn’t exactly sunshine and rainbows, and Little S has yet to learn that Queendom doesn’t come cheap. ❞

expanded bio:

Unlike most of her peers, Stacie Grace Evans wasn’t born into the glamorous world that was the Upper East Side. Her family didn’t come from great wealth and held no power or notable position. Her dad was a former musician who was in a band most people never heard of and her mom was a struggling artist. Then there was her and her brother, Sam, who were both nothing really too special. They were just a small family living in Brooklyn and even though they didn’t have a luxurious life, they always knew they had each other to lean on. She always had someone to come home to and her family always had dinner together.

Stacie knew that they did didn’t have much and while money was tight, she felt lucky that she lived in such an amazing city like New York. The summers were always buzzing and the winters were always magical. She also loved how she could walk through the city and find people from all walks of life and see the beautiful clothes hanging on display in the fashion district of the city. Even if she couldn’t afford them she always greatly admired them for their color and design. She remembers as a child asking her mother if she could get one of Paolo Sebastian’s dresses for her birthday. Of course, that was way beyond their parent’s budget but also remembers how hard her mom worked to try recreating the dress. It wasn’t an exact recreation but it was an admirable effort. In fact, watching her mother work so hard on something so beautiful (at lest it was to an 8 year old Stacie) was what inspired the youngest Evans to try her own hand at creating garments. She asked her mother to teach her and she was more than happy to. It started off with making clothing for her dolls then developed into simple skirts and dresses to full fledge outfits. Using her skills to imitate the latest styles in Vogue and Vanity Fair with the help of her mother. It was one of her favorite things to do together and will always be some of Stacie’s fondest memories.

And it might be those very memories that may be holding Stacie back from accepting exactly what her mother has done. Before Stacie went into middle school, her mother had decided to go across the country for the summer to have more time to find herself as an artist, leaving behind her husband, Sam, and Stacie. Things have been a bit off since she left but Stacie is sure that her mother will come back home soon. She said she would be back before the end of the summer – though it’s been more than a few summers since school’s been in session but Stacie has hope that her mother will return. After all, she wouldn’t just leave them. Her mother couldn’t possibly just leave her without a word. It may be silly to keep holding on hope that she’ll walk through the loft doors but Stacie can’t let go, because letting go would mean she would have to deal with the heartbreak and she doesn’t know if she’s ready to handle that type of disappointment. Besides, her mother does still end her cactuses every year for her birthday so she knows she’s still thinking about her in some way – even though the last few years they have come in a month early than her actual birthday.

When she found out her brother got a scholarship to St. Jude’s in the Upper East Side, Stacie was incredibly jealous. She had heard about the type of people who attended that school and couldn’t believe Sam had the opportunity to go while she was stuck in drab ol’ Brooklyn. However, she was happy for Sam since she knew that this opportunity would open doors for him and hey, if Sam got invited to any cool parties then she’d make sure to blackmail him till he agreed to bring her along. And perhaps she should have known that her brother wasn’t going to be going to any fabulous social events considering he’s always been a huge dork but she was still disappointed when he couldn’t even manage to get an invitation to the end of the year charity ball – even the handmaiden’s get invited to that! How did Sam actually manage to be such a huge loser that he couldn’t even get an invite to that?!

Anyway, the idea that Stacie might potentially be forever stuck watching the world from the Gossip Girl blog was terrifying. She knew that money didn’t necessarily buy happiness, but it did buy respect. Which might be the thing Stacie longed for more than anything else. Being the youngest in her family and barely 5 feet tall, people looked at her like she was just a little girl. She could see people just see her as the doe-eyed naïve girl but she knew she was so much more. Stacie just needed the chance to prove it. She had drive and ambition; she had a real talent that she knew could get her far if people were willing to give her a chance.

That’s when she decided that if she couldn’t get a the same scholarship as Sam, then she would find her own. So she looked around and entered essay writing contests, put in volunteer hours at the local shelters, and even tried to apply for a Native American scholarship because she was pretty sure she was 10% Cherokee on her mom’s side. Unfortunately, nothing seemed to work. It wasn’t until she entered an art contest held by schools of the Upper East Side district. It was her last chance and perhaps her biggest gamble to compete against people all over the city who had years technical training. She worked tirelessly to produce a collection of pieces worthy to show to those who she wished to one-day work by. Luckily for her, a few members of the board took note of her. Her stylish drawings of Brooklyn contrasted by the bright imagery of clothes that commented of the New York dream garnered positive attention and managed to actually win an art scholarship to Constance Billiard the following year.

It was like a dream come true, she nearly cried when her name was announced as a winner and Sam had to remind her that the rich and famous weren’t found of outward emotion. So Stacie tried to keep calm as she accepted her award but as soon as they were out the doors the youngest Evans screamed in joy and danced all the way home like an idiot. As soon as she got back to her room that night, she started planning and prepping for her freshman year at her new school and going over the game plan of how she would make her entrance and what cool thing she would say to Kurt Hummel when they met.

Unfortunately, life at Constance Billiard was not what Stacie expected. Granted, it might have been a little silly for her to have expected to walk into the halls of the girl’s school and expect Rachel Berry to take notice of her altered uniform and mention it to her best friend Kurt Hummel before deciding to take the young Evans under their wing. Yeah, that was quite a bit of wishful thinking on her part but it seemed like the girls at school could clock her imitation dresses from 10 miles away and her last season shoes that she bought on sale weren’t quite good enough.

Stacie wishes she could say that this didn’t bother her, but it did. It bothered her so much. She would see all the pretty girls get to school in their town cars as the sound of their designer shoes filled the halls before sitting down on the steps to eat their organic gluten free meal cooked by their personal chef while little Stacie Evans had to take the subway to school and sit in a classroom to eat her PB&J sandwich – and she was pretty sure the bread was a little stale at that. She really couldn’t complain though, at lest she wasn’t getting bullied. There were definitely less fortunate girls who were the targets of the Queen Bees wrath but Stacie didn’t hold any threat so she mostly managed to fly under the radar for most of her freshman year.

However, as the year went on she was starting to realize that maybe being invisible might actually be detrimental to her social status if she ever wants to be somebody. If she ever wanted to make connections and the respect of her peers she needed to break out of her shell unless she wanted to be dubbed a similar nickname to that of her brother’s “lonely boy” by Gossip girl. So Stacie took out her sewing machine, a pair of scissors, and some tulle. She didn’t have money, but she had an incredible sense of style and creatively. She altered her uniform and blouses, did some extra chores to gather enough money for vintage accessories because saying something is vintage sounds so much better than saying something was on sale – at least in the Upper East Side.

It wasn’t until her sophomore year that the Inner Circle finally took notice of little Stacie Evans when she wore one of her own designs to homecoming. Sure, it was a work of an armature but one that had potential to say that least. Not to mention that Stacie had a cute face and an eagerness to please, and so the prince and princess of the Upper East Side declared her a project. While Stacie is thankful for the opportunity to for Manhattan royalty, she wonders if she’ll ever been seen more than just a lowly handmaiden. Stacie may be small but she’ll to anything to come on top – even if it means she might have to cross those who took a chance on her. She’s not willing to blend into the background again and if gaining attention and popularity means she’ll have to make a few waves than so be it.

connections:

Kurt Hummel & Rachel Berry are the king and queen bitches of the Upper East Side, and they rule with an iron fist. All Stacie wants is to make her way into the charmed circle, but selling your soul doesn’t come easy.

Stephen Fabray might not remember Little S, but she remembers him. The two were almost “friends” before Quinn disappeared and he went from innocent as a Taylor Swift love interest to the Upper East Side’s newest douchebag playboy. Though Stacie would love to use the friendship to get closer to the inner circle, she’s still miffed about the cold shoulder her gave her this summer.

ooc info:

admin ana, 20, cst

#stacie evans #re: kurt hummel #re: rachel berry #re: stephen fabray #a #f #tf #t

0 notes