xoxo, gossip girl | eren.j

S1:E1

this fan fic is based on this fan art by staticfeels_ on ig!!!

𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬.
𝐰𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤, 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐯𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐮𝐬. 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫? 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧, 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐬 𝐢'𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐰𝐞'𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞.
𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐲-𝐠𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐩 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

"No fucking way." You whispered to yourself, scrolling through the app on your phone. You thought your cousin was lying. What middle school bullshit was this app? You didn't actually think some lowlife was devoting their time to stalking kids on the UES, but here you were, your fingers tapping on 'blasts' that exposed every detail of these kid's lives. Looked like you were going to stay in the shadows from now on, which might be a teeny bit impossible. Your mom was a supermodel back in the 90s, and everyone went on about how you snatched her looks, whilst you took your dad's intellect, being that he was a very wealthy engineer.

You sighed, throwing your phone on the bed before heading to your wardrobe, picking out an outfit for the first day of school. Sigh. Yes you were in senior year, but that just meant your first outfit was going to be more of a big deal than ever! But, having a supermodel mom came in handy, you were raised backstage. You knew how to fucking style clothes.

As your hands trailed across your array of skirts, you ponder to yourself about how school would be. Would you make any friends? Judging by the fact that Trost was an all through school, you assumed most people at school would have had their friendship groups since birth. You weren't a New York native, your family actually resided in London, where you attended boarding school most of your life, until you decided to beg your parents to let you move to the Americas to have a fresh start there. Before your mind could creep to overthinking, you grabbed your clothes, setting them out as you thought what to do with your H/C hair. You didn't want to look like you were putting in much effort, but you didn't want to seem like you didn't give a shit either.

Once you were satisfied with your outfit, a tartan skirt paired with a collared white shirt and cream Trost cable knit over it, you pulled your white thigh highs on and your knee high boots. Yeah, you were hot, and you knew it. Your mother was M/N M/L/N for fucks' sake! You still had an hour to go school, so decided that maybe for once you'd eat breakfast. You were really craving a pain au chocolat today.

"Mom?" You called out, walking down the marble stairs, clutching onto the handrail so you didn't fall, your mother laying on a chaise lounge, reading Vogue. You remembered the days when you flicked through her old Vogue magazines, admiring your mother who was so pretty. You wanted to be just like her (minus the craziness, but it seemed like you also adopted that).