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herstarburststories · 4 years ago

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(He Isn't) A Good Guy

Kinktober day 15: humiliation kink

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x reader

Summary: Jensen is tired of everyone saying he's a good guy.

Warnings: dirty talk (kind dark bc of the kink), handjob, p in v, riding, cheating, possessive, slapping

You have to be careful with what you're good at. You might just end up doing it for the rest of your life.

Jensen Ackles never caught the appeal of that saying. If you were really that good at something, why wouldn't you want to do it?

Such a mindset was as constant as a mother’s love and made Jensen's loyal company for a long time during his career. He pictured it would last forever: the head pats, positive criticism, and his charm that caught more and more fans. The Hollywood man was happy, really. He grew to be a good — if not great — actor. He had a wife and three kids that were the love of his life. He could go anywhere and find a job through the instantaneous recognition that Supernatural bestowed upon him, not to mention its gift of a best friend, Jared, and the raw amount of personal growth he went through.

He was perfect in the most diversified aspects of his life, and, God, it was boring as fuck.

Whatever Jensen did, he was excused for it. Plenty of people would light themselves on fire for him (and hey, don’t think he was ungrateful for that), but being called a good guy that apparently couldn’t do any wrongs while the rights came out even in his sleep could be devastatingly annoying.

He thought he might have some problem, perhaps even a middle-aged crisis. Come on, who, with his life, would feel compelled to look for something else? Ackles had the money, the friends, and family. He had everything everyone dreamed about, but he just wanted to wake up.

Then, he met you.

You were the woman in her twenties who was barely starting in the media business, yet you had enough luck and talent to evoke the CW's attention that early. They wouldn't hire you as an official director, but you were in the training process. You were a prodigy, as most people on the set liked to joke about.

You sighed, slightly frustrated about the direction these takes were going. Asking Ackles to follow orders was roughly the same as punching a wall; the brick didn't break, and it only left you with scuffed knuckles and growing irritation. “Jensen, you need to tilt your head to the side or we won't be able to catch her face on camera.”

“I'm doing that,” he said as if it was obvious.

“The camera doesn't agree with you.” You crossed your arms, tired of having this heated squabble again.

“I know how to shoot sex scenes, Y/N. I've been doing that for—”

You interrupted him: “I'm aware of how long the show I'm working on has been going, Jensen. Now, take my hint and do as I say. I get that you have done this before, but we are trying a new position, so your M.O. might not work.” You knew he was a good actor. Supernatural wouldn't be what it was if it wasn't for his character. Still, you needed this episode to be perfect in terms of filming. It was your first actual chance to prove how worthy you were. Jensen had his career and little apple pie life settled, but you had to scratch and squirm to insert yourself into the industry. You knew what you were doing. Nonetheless, you attempted to pacify his self-assurance by being assertive and gentle at the same time: “Just listen to me and try it. Please.”

The green-eyed man opened his mouth, very much ready to spit out a contradicting retort, but at the last second, he clamped his jaw shut and opted for a smirk instead. “Yeah, boss.”

It was the first time in years that someone actually came at him. Jensen felt the bruise aching his ego that spiked a sudden pressing need to puff out his chest and say I know what I am doing. Why don't you watch?

He'd call that the Texan man behavior, alpha macho testosterone levels on high, but, honestly, he was just mad that someone had the audacity to talk to him like that, as if he was a rookie on his job. Jensen's whole body heated up, his jaw clenched, and his breath caught on his throat when he glanced at you — of course, he'd never put a hand on a woman, but God, that was infuriating. He wasn't a middle school child in need of a lecture.

But this was his first impression. As you gave everyone fifteen minutes to relax before shooting again, he went to his trailer, gait unnecessarily heavy like a child throwing a tantrum. Jensen locked his trailer and closed his eyes, trying to pick out his emotions — how long have it been since he got mad? That couldn't be healthy.

Do as I say. Your words were echoes in his head, spinning and making him dizzy. Just listen to me.

And the look you gave him. It wasn’t adoration as a fan or nervousness like a new worker. You didn’t excuse him as anyone else did. You glanced at him as you would to any other person on the set that had made a mistake: you pointed it out and didn't offer any sugarcoating to dull the blow.

It felt refreshing.

Shaking your head at the scene unrolling on the other side of the camera, you let out an exhausted sigh. This was your second directed episode, and Jensen wasn't making it easy for you. He always seemed like such a nice guy, yet you weren't surprised by his mulish behavior. You had called him out, and now he was turning it back around on you. Celebrities were complicated on their one, but male ones even more. Their egos required a role for themselves.

“Everyone, ten minutes!” you announced, placing the headphones on the table next to you. Your crew started dispersing, Ackles included, when his name left your lips: “Jensen, c'here.”

The green-eyed man arched his eyebrows, not sure why you wanted to talk to him so privately. Still, he approached you.

When you were a kid, you went through a phase when your smile wasn’t very pretty. It was too much teeth, eyes too tight, and head lifted high enough to show under your chin. Your parents couldn't just up and tell you that it looked terrible, obviously, so they just showed you multiple pictures until you decided that you didn't like something about it.

Maybe that would work with Jensen.

You patted the chair next to you, and Jensen sat there with a wisp of hesitation. You clicked on the scene you had been trying to get right for almost an hour. The replay went smoothly, Ackles's shoulders shrugging by the end. He didn't see the fuss about this.

“Seems good,” he said nonchalantly.

You squinted your eyes at him. Someone as talented as him couldn't be serious about not seeing a problem with how ridiculous his vampire transformation through the last season was. “Seems like a sitcom”

“It's a dumb scene.” Jensen shrugged.

You groaned. “Can't you just accept that you can do better?”

Jensen crossed his arms and straightened his posture, holding a defensive atmosphere around him. God, he was infuriating sometimes. “Maybe you can. I've been doing great for years. You might not be the right director for this kind of show.”

“Just do as I said. You're in the scene, but I'm the audience. I can see right through you. I'm seeing things from another perspective and trying to tell you how to improve. That's what a director is for. Go ahead and try it!”

Your friendly conversation with the lead apparently had the opposite effect. As soon as he went back to his place in front of the camera, Jensen Ackles appeared to acquire the stubborn, incredibly unprofessional desire to take on all the worst camera angles only to get on your nerves.

“Are you kidding me!?” You elevated your voice, furious at how careless he was. All your patience has been zapped. “You're doing it on purpose. How can you be so petty?”

“Me? Petty!?” he said between gritted teeth, almost hissing as he walked to you. “I've been playing Dean for years. I know him more than—”

“I know. You do a big job with that character, but Jensen, you make mistakes. It's part of the process. You're a grown-ass man, so you can take what I'm saying and make something useful out of it. I'm the director; you are the actor. I don't care about how long you’ve been on this stage, and I don’t care for incompetence. You ain't doing good, so do as I say and fix it.”

Jensen tensed up when you said that, exhaling shortly while his eyes glued on you. You were half his age, yet the way you presented yourself — arms stiffly crossed, eyes ablaze and chin lifted — spoke of your power on this film set. At the end of the day, he was just a man, and he was in your court. Just like that, you held all control. He bit his bottom lip, neck red with the heat of anger and adrenaline that lashed through his body.

He was furious, yet all his body could do was react as if you had kissed him instead of punching his ego.

Anger and luxury both came from the same place. They were just different branches on the same tree growing from a common seed.

The half of Supernatural's leader actor started doing it on purpose, then. Not acting in a way that could collide with his career or mess up the shooting schedule, but an occasional bitched scene here and there when he had a chance, and always when you were in charge of the scene.

He relished in it: someone treating him like a man and not an untouchable idol. A woman who would look straight in his eyes and not be too intimidated, excited, or lovey-dovey to tell him all the bad things he needed to hear. You were someone who could put him in his place.

Unfortunately, playing around can only get you so far. If you bring someone to the pool, they won't be satisfied with just one foot in the water. They'd want to swim, splash water at their friends to get them all wet and soaked too.

What started with provocative, fuming rage and nuisance soon melted into something deadlier. It was something unmanageable, a burning fire that attracted all the wrong kinds of glances. Yet, neither of you could help but follow where the smoke signal led.

You were here, in each other's arms. It was a dirty little secret that went way beyond just an illicit affair: it was about what you two could give to each other without even asking, and what other people could never quite comprehend. . . And they didn't need to. Jensen had you, and you had Jensen. To desire and savor the result was enough.

Your hand was wrapped around his cock, moving up and down in a painfully slow rhythm. You had two legs wrapped around his, your face hanging next to Jensen's — close enough that you could kiss all of his freckles if this were out of love and not necessity — as you spoke.

“Everybody thinks you are the good guy. Little mister perfect.” Ackles groaned at the malice in your tone. He hated that — how everyone called him perfect, how every single person told him he was such a good guy. You were his only grounding force under the blinding lights. “But I know you aren't. You are nasty, disgusting, and so needy for someone to put you in your fucking place.”

The male's lips parted slightly, a pornographic moan leaving his body. This perversion felt like a hair short of sin. Who in their right mind would be so turned on by a girl half his age picking up all the worst things one could say about him, only to throw them exactly where it hurt the most?

Why, in the name of God, did he want more? Why was Jensen bucking his lips, needy noises that he never dons escaping his trembling body? Why was his cock hard as fuck, ruinining your fingers with sloppy precum while he internally begged you for more?

It was like receiving a miracle and giving it to the devil.

“Look at you,” you continued, a smirk painted on your features, “getting fucked in your trailer by the woman who basically told you to stop whining and get your job done like a real man.” You loved being in control of the usually overconfident Hollywood star. If only his dearest fans knew how much of a submissive he was — how he just needed to be told where he belonged.

“Y/N…” Jensen managed to say, his chest moving erratically fast. You leaned in to press your lips to his, and he whimpered. Ackles' hand slid to your waist in an attempt to pull you closer, but all he got was a slap on the arm and lack of friction on his dick. “Y/N!”

“I didn't say you could touch me, stubborn idiot.” You hissed, getting up to throw away your skirt and underwear. Jensen sniffed, feeling so ridiculous about himself. You had way too much control over him, but he couldn't really care about anything other than you touching his cock right now. Fuck composure or else. “I'm not your wife. I'm not one of your thirsty fans.” Each word came out in a harsh tone, those syllabus together had no other duty but hurt him, and he loved how they agonized in his body, redirected right to his hardness. You got free of the skirt and your soaked lace panties. “I don't need you. This?” You gestured at yourself and Ackles, a wry laughter coming out as you climbed on his lap. “I'm doing you a favor. So, you better thank me and take whatever I choose to give you. Understood?” Jensen's eyes were obsessed with your image, not leaving your face once— not even to look at his hard cock that was so close to your cunt due the new position. He just nodded, wishing that was enough to show you his piece of mind. It wasn't. You slapped his cheek and howled. “I made you a question.”

Jensen gulped, the red on his cheek from your smack couldn't compare to his blushed body. This felt so good, finally getting what he wanted. Ultimately, he blurted out: “Yes, I understand.”

“Good. Now let's put you to good use.” You winked at him, a hint of silly playfulness before you got all his length inside you at once. Both of you moaned, the unique sensation of your walls around his hard dick was marvelous. So warm, tight, and wet. Everything he deserved in one pussy, one woman. You started to move your hips up and down. “You feel so good inside me, baby. Like your cock was made for me— I think you were made just for this, to be fucked by me. What do you think?” His eyes fluttered shut, Jensen was allowing himself to get lost into you. You were heaven in sin, fucking him so nice. You weren't having his silent, though. You both had to be quiet about many things regarding to your mutual arrangement, you couldn't get more of closed mouths. Not when this was happening. You grabbed Jensen's jaw, fingertips pressing against his skin. “You better start answering me before I get out of here and go get some with a real man.”

Jensen groaned, holding your hips possessively. You knew he was one of the jealous kind, talking about other men touching you always got a reaction out of him. “I'm a real man.”

“Show me then, baby.” A glimpse of sweetness appeared as you leaned in to kiss his lips. It didn't last much before your lips went to his neck, words coming through an open-mouthed there. “You know, they all are so caught up in your act, Jensen. The perfect texan boy, the amazing husband, the unproblematic idol…” You chortled, sending goosebumps through his whole soul. His dick was deep into you as you were riding his restlessly. “I bet you get tired of this. I bet you just want to fuck me in front of everyone sometimes, just to show them how dirty you can be.” He nodded, a soft whine leaving his lips. He was so tired of being the good guy. Only you knew him. “Like right now. You spent the whole day messing up with me, teasing me, just so you could get punished. And here we are, fucking in your trailer, while everyone is getting ready to go home.” He tried to move his hips as well, to get more of you. When you didn't stop him, Ackles winced and bucked his hips, hitting your G-spot, going deep and raw inside your tight cunt. One of his hands went to your pussy, digits pressing to your clit. Your next words came during groans of pleasure. “You should go too, baby. But you can't help it, huh? You just want go fuck me, even though I don't even care enough to send you a message to make sure you got home safe. You like it. You love that I'm not crazy about you, that I don't care.” His heart ached, but his cock only grew harder. Jensen could feel he was on the edgy. “So, you stay here instead of going home to your sweet wife. You stay here instead of hanging out with your best friend. You stay here instead of looking through your social media just to get an ego boost. Is this what a good man would do, Jensen? No... But that's okay. Men like you just need to be put in their places, and you love it.”

“Y/N!” He screamed helplessly, pulling your body closer to him when he came inside you, marking your pussy as his. A treacherous, lust stained thought was placed on his shoulders, whispering lovingly to his ear like you did your swearing: breed her, get her pregnant with your baby. Make her yours.

You had broken him, and he loved every second of it. He couldn't wait to give you the shattered pieces as a gift.

You came with an excruciating grunt right after him, all over his cock. The feeling of Jensen coming inside you always pushed you right way. You sighed happily, resting your head on his chest.

He enjoyed moments like this.

You remained there, waiting for his cock to relax inside you, get less hard before you pulled you. When it did, you pressed a quick kiss to his collarbone, walking to grab your clothes.

“Jensen,” You coughed after putting on your skirt. “I'll send you the new script tonight. Send me an email to confirm that you got it.”

What you truly wanted to say was, tell me if you got home safe. But you couldn't.

“Sure.” Jensen answered with a nod. Once again, he also wanted to say something else: thank you for giving me what I need, for seeing me. I love you. But he couldn't.

You picked up your wet panties, throwing it at him with a teasing smile before leaving the trailer.

It was enough.

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let-the-dream-begin · 4 years ago

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In My Daughter’s Eyes

"In my daughter's eyes, I am a hero. I am strong and wise, and I know no fear. But the truth is plain to see: she was sent to rescue me. I see who I want to be. In my daughter's eyes...And when she wraps her hand around my finger, how it puts a smile in my heart. Everything becomes a little clearer; I realize what life is all about. It's hanging on when your heart has had enough. It's giving more when you feel like giving up I've seen the light: It's in my daughter's eyes."

Claire’s husband has abandoned her and their daughter, Faith, because he is unable to handle her diagnosis of nonverbal autism. In order to start a new life, Claire has taken Faith to New York. Desperate for some kind of breakthrough in Faith’s treatment, she decides to try horse therapy, where she meets Jamie Fraser, Faith’s assigned hippotherapist. Claire is overwhelmed and touched by Jamie’s dedication to his work, and his particular dedication to her daughter.

Chapter 1: Four Incidents

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Claire’s nerves were positively shot. The past ten or so hours had been hell for her poor daughter, and, subsequently, for her as well. The first incident had arisen from the fact that four-year-old Faith had never been in such a crowded setting before. Immediately upon stepping through the doors of the airport and seeing the bustling hoards of people, she had begun yanking on her mother’s hand, digging her stubborn heels into the tile, and screaming her head off. Claire had come prepared; she had her noise-canceling headphones for the flight, but she hadn’t anticipated needing them for the airport itself. In actuality, it wasn’t really that loud, and so this tantrum had her absolutely dreading the upcoming flight.

Claire was used to the stares, the disapproval, the tuts of sympathy. She’d even heard her fair share of blatant, verbal criticism of her parenting. So, she let that roll off her back. What she wasn’t used to was Airport Police coming up to her and questioning what her intentions were with her own child. She’d had to stammer to them while her face and neck flushed red, tears of embarrassment stinging her eyes.

“Yes, I am her mother—You don’t understand; she has autism. She’s never been somewhere so crowded before. She’s just overwhelmed.”

Have you never bloody seen a child throw a tantrum before?

Well, perhaps they had, but they certainly hadn’t been privy to a Faith tantrum.

Panic began clenching her gut, remembering the time she’d been asked to leave a grocery store because Faith had wet herself, then proceeded to roll around on the floor, inconsolable. That had been the worst one to date.

This one was quickly rivaling it, however.

They asked her to provide proof that Faith was her child; proof that she was not kidnapping her.

“I can’t let go of her hand—please, she’ll run outside and right into traffic.”

“I’ll hold onto her, ma’am.”

“No—”

It was too late. The man put a hand on Faith’s shoulder, and all hell broke loose. Claire had to tighten her grip on her hand to the point of her knuckles whitening. If Faith was screaming before, now she was howling. The Airport Police were in a frenzy; they had no idea what to do.

“Faith! Darling, please, it’s alright.”

Claire let their suitcases go, dropped her purse and fell to her knees to wrap her arms around Faith’s middle from behind. It wasn’t long before a little fist collided with her lip. At some point in the proceedings, Claire had managed to say: “Look for our passports your fucking self if you really must have proof that she’s mine.”

They did.

“Faith! Faith Julia Randall, if you don’t stop this right now, there will be no dessert tonight.”

Another loud wail.

“Do you hear me? I’m going to count to ten, Faith. By ten, if you are not quiet, no dessert.”

Another cry.

“One. Two.”

Claire tasted blood in her mouth. Seemed that her daughter had given her another fat lip.

“Three. Four.”

By some bloody miracle, her thrashing was finally starting to calm.

“Five. Six.”

The screaming stopped.

“Seven. Eight.”

Faith’s full bodyweight collapsed into Claire, and Claire let out a sigh of relief. “Okay. There you go. Good girl…good girl.”

She rocked her gently, kissed her head. “Good girl, Faith. It’s alright now.”

The Airport Police were still standing there, stunned into silence.

“Uh…ma’am…your lip is bleeding.”

“I’m aware, thank you,” Claire snapped before returning her attention to Faith. “Shh…it’s alright…”

“I’m, uh…sorry for making it worse, ma’am,” the other officer said softly. “Would, uh…this help?”

He held something down to her, pointedly reaching for Claire and not Faith. Claire looked up to see him holding out a set of little plastic wings, clearly some “junior assistant pilot” badge they occasionally gave out to children.

“It might. Thank you.”

“I’m Officer Hansen, ma’am. Is there anything else we can do for you?”

“Just…just watch my bags until I’ve gotten her calm. Thank you.”

He nodded.

“Hey…Faithie…” Claire crooned, stroking her tear soaked cheek. “Look what Mummy has.” She held the little wings in her palm in front of Faith’s eyes. “Do you want to be a pilot, Faith? What about that?”

Hiccuping and coughing through her tears, she reached out for the wings and held them in her hands, examining them closely.

“Do you like it?”

Faith nodded ever-so-slightly.

“Shall we put it on?” She gently turned Faith around and took the pin in her hand, fastening it to a belt loop. Faith did not wear pins or wristbands in a conventional manner. The feeling of something poking her skin through her shirt or something rubbing her wrist caused her sensory overload, so the belt loop is where such things ended up.

“Good girl.”

Claire took her hand and made to stand up, but Faith uttered an indignant noise that froze her in her spot. She sighed in surrender.

“I’m afraid she’s going to make me carry her, or else we’ll all be privy to another tantrum…” Claire said, scooping her up and settling her on her hip. “Could you…would it be terribly inconvenient if you were to help with our luggage?”

“We’re police, ma’am, not busboys — ”

“I’d be happy to help, ma’am.” Officer Hansen cut the other officer off.

“Thank you, thank you so much.” Claire practically burst into tears, overwhelmed with gratefulness.

She’d underestimated how difficult it would be to travel with a child as special as Faith alone.

Claire shook her head. She didn’t want to think about Frank right now.

Keeping Faith calm by making criss-cross patterns on her back with her fingertips and making a rushing “shh” noise in her ear for white noise, Claire and the officer made their way to the check-in counter. He handled her purse,credit card, and ID as well, and Claire could have gotten on her knees and kissed his feet. She could tell he was genuinely sorry for what had happened as a result of his and his partner’s ignorance, and he was determined to see that they got on their flight in one piece.

He also got them through pre-check, using his privileges to escort them through the faster line. Once they were through, he handed her back her purse and Faith’s carry-on Frozen backpack.

“I’ve put the boarding passes at the top so you can get to them easier. In case you never get to put her down.” He smiled apologetically. “I really am sorry — ”

“Please, it’s alright,” Claire said. “I really, really appreciate all you’ve done for us. You have no idea how hard it is to do this…”

“Alone,” he finished for her.

“Yeah.” Claire nodded.

“If there’s anything else you need, you can ask anybody with a walkie-talkie to page Officer Hansen. Alright?”

She smiled warmly. “Thank you. Truly.”

He nodded curtly and then went off.

The second incident had arisen when they’d come across a kiosk selling mini cereal boxes, and Faith’s eye had been caught by a box of Fruit-Loops that had Elsa on it. Claire had been loath to buy more cereal, being that she already had plain cheerios in Faith’s carry-on that had been much cheaper than the robbery for which the Fruit Loops were selling. She tried to resist, but fearing prompting another tantrum, she yielded. She bought the box and stealthily managed to switch the bag of Fruit Loops inside the box with the bag of Cheerios, knowing full well that the sugar content of the Fruit Loops would make the upcoming flight unbearable.

So there they sat, waiting at the terminal, Faith kicking her legs and bouncing while clutching her tablet, watching Frozen with her noise-cancelling headphones on with Claire occasionally popping a Cheerio into her open mouth.

The third incident had arisen when it was time to board and Claire tried to put Faith’s pink sequined sleep-mask over her eyes to prevent her from seeing how close-quarters the aircraft was. She’d immediately moaned in protest, unwilling to tear her eyes away from the movie. Claire knew she was taking a leap of faith (and she laughed to herself at the pun), but with bated breath she allowed Faith to simply walk onto the boarding bridge with her nose stuck in her tablet.

Before long, she was seated and buckled, tablet in her lap, her eyes never having left the screen.

It bloody worked.

Claire could have cried with relief.

Claire had to plead with the stewardess to convince her that Faith’s tablet was not a “large electronic device,” and the stewardess had conceded; as long as it stayed in her lap and the tray remained in the upright position, Faith could keep watching her movie.

The fourth incident, of course, occurred when the plane started to take off. Even with noise-cancelling headphones, the rushing mechanical noise and the feeling of the vibration everywhere was too much for her. She clamped her hands over her headphones, and she immediately began squirming, trying to unbuckle her seatbelt. Then, of course, the sensation of the take-off itself did not help at all. Claire had given herself a pep-talk every morning leading up to this flight for weeks: “It’s not your fault. The people judging you have no idea what you deal with every day. You can’t help her sensory overload. Ignore them.”

But she still couldn’t help the rush of embarrassed heat on her neck as the familiar side-eyes and conspicuous whispers began.

After literally clamping her hands down on Faith’s shoulders to keep her seated for about an hour, Faith finally became engrossed in the movie again. Claire had also prepared in that she knew getting Faith to use the bathroom on the aircraft would be a disaster. Since being potty-trained was still relatively new--even though she was four, potty-training an autistic child was a whole different animal--Claire had put a fresh pull-up on her right before they boarded to prevent as many trips as possible.

Finally, ten or so hours since the initial meltdown, Claire was standing at baggage claim, holding her sleeping daughter. She’d fallen asleep with about two hours left in the flight and slept straight through the descent and the landing, thank God. Claire had never been particularly religious, but she’d had the urge to cross herself upon realizing she’d be avoiding a fifth incident.

When the blaring alarm sounded, signaling that the baggage claim carousel was beginning, Faith jolted awake in her arms.

Fuck.

She began wailing again, clamping her hands over the headphones.

Do those bloody things cancel any noise?

Admittedly, it could have been worse. It seemed that she was just alarmed to be woken so suddenly, because, after about twenty seconds, she was calm again. Claire had to put her down to collect their baggage, and she struggled greatly to get the suitcase off the moving carousel with one hand. Letting go of Faith’s hand was simply not an option.

She was eternally grateful, then, to the stranger who helped her with both bags.

Bloody ironic that you’ve met two strange men today that have done more for you and your daughter than her own father.

Pushing that dark thought aside once more, Claire made her way to the taxi pick up area and strapped Faith into the rental car seat. Their 11:20 departure from Heathrow International had landed them at MacArthur Airport at 2:07 on the dot. After a seven hour and forty-five minute flight, there was only a twenty-two minute taxi drive and then they’d finally be in their new home: an apartment complex only a few miles away from Stony Brook University Hospital, where Claire would be doing her residency.

She’d never particularly imagined herself living in (or on, as they say here) Long Island of all places. After her unconventional and rather rugged upbringing, thinking of herself living in suburbia, only about an hour from those Hamptons she’d heard so much about, was enough to make her chuckle to herself. Gillian had assured her that the entire island wasn’t like the stereotype she’d imagined, which had slightly put her mind at ease. That wasn’t what had drawn her there, of course.

She’d been drawn to the area by a great many things. She wanted to be away from the cluttered, cramped feeling of Europe; away from Frank, quite honestly, as far as possible. She didn’t want to be in a city; she knew the noise would be far too much for Faith. The quiet suburbs of Long Island seemed to fit, and she’d heard excellent things about Stony Brook. Lastly, and most importantly were the amazing things she’d heard about equine therapy for special needs children. There were such places in England, but none had as many glowing reviews as the one that was only an eighteen minute drive from their new home: Harmony Stables.

Faith had always had an affinity for animals, and Claire felt guilty that she couldn’t commit to taking care of a dog so that she could have a service dog. It wasn’t the finances, per se, just the thought of having two lives to look after on her own was an overwhelming thought. Perhaps someday when they were settled. Faith’s psychiatrist in Oxfordshire had suggested some sort of animal therapy, and she spoke of the wonders equine therapy had done for a previous patient. At this point, Claire would try anything. Anything to calm the horrible anxiety that she knew plagued her daughter every second of any given day. The Risperdal was not doing much on its own. As much as the meltdowns fried Claire’s nerves and caused her much embarrassment, she was certain they fried Faith’s nerves about ten times as much. If learning to ride and forming a connection with a horse could take away even a fraction of that crippling anxiety, Claire would pay any amount of money to make that happen.

She’d also, of course, done research regarding her education. She was aware of the specific needs of her non-verbal autistic daughter; knew she needed to learn to communicate, either find someone to coax words out of her or learn sign language, knew she needed to learn how to read and how to behave in a public setting. She’d already made arrangements for a private tutor to come to the house like she’d done in Oxfordshire. She’d been in contact with a Mrs. Lickett, a lovely woman. Together, they would decide if Faith would be ready for a special needs kindergarten class come next fall, or if they should wait another year. Mrs. Lickett had assured her that it was common for children like Faith to continue with private instruction and wait to start real school until six or seven.

Claire’s reverie was broken when she felt the taxi stop and she looked up with wide eyes at the building before her. The buildings in the complex were only two stories high, the grass was neatly trimmed, and the doors were all stark white with shimmering gold numbers.

Well, it’s not a cul-de-sac housing development, but it sure still feels like suburbia.

Number eleven was theirs, on the second floor. The cab driver helped with the luggage as Claire tugged Faith up the stairs, eyes still glued to her tablet, which was now playing Sesame Street. Claire’s fingers shook as she pushed the key into the lock, and she exhaled sharply when she took in the sight of the living room. She’d had most of the things she didn’t want to replace sent over about a week and a half ago, along with ordering new essentials like furniture and mattresses. But the movers and delivery men hadn’t bothered to keep anything separated by room like she’d requested, except for the furniture itself. Sighing deeply, she sat Faith on the couch beside a stack of boxes and paid the taxi driver, thanking him profusely.

God…where do I even begin?

Claire supposed she should start with finding and unpacking bedroom items, preferring to have both of their beds made before they crashed tonight. Kitchen stuff could wait; they’d most definitely be getting takeout tonight…and probably every night for the foreseeable future.

She started to rifle through boxes and then she smiled and turned to Faith, intending to let her know how very exciting it was to be in their new home, but she bit her tongue. It would perhaps be better to leave her, for now, completely engrossed in the tablet. If Claire interrupted her now, who knows when she’d be able to get anything done? Sadness tugged at her heart briefly as she watched her daughter, a vague, absent smile on her face. She wondered if she had any idea at all what was going on, if she’d be anxious in a new environment, if it wouldn’t phase her at all, if she was excited. She had no way of communicating her thoughts and emotions, even to her own mother, and it was times like this where that thought pained Claire the most.

She wanted nothing more than to blast her Disney playlist and christen the new living room with their dancing, to revel in this new beginning with her daughter. But for the sake of productivity, that would have to wait.

With a heavy sigh, Claire returned to her boxes, intent on finding bedsheets and blankets. She wanted to turn on music, knowing that she worked better that way, but she didn’t want anything to distract Faith from her, well, distraction. She settled on humming “Let it Go,” of all things, to herself while she worked to find what they’d need to carry out the rest of the day with some semblance of normalcy.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander modern au #outlander au #claire beauchamp #claire fraser #jamie fraser #faith fraser

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kiwi-stan · 5 years ago

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Southern Belle

Evelyn has always done exactly what her overbearing parents want, until she meets Harry, their new gardener. I’m a little nervous to post this because I’ve never written OCs in fics before, but I wanted to describe her appearance more and didn’t want to do that with a self-insert so I figured I would give it a shot. There’s probably two more parts to this but I didn’t want it to get too long.

Eve woke up to the sound of the lawnmower roaring right below her window. She rolled over to see the clock on her nightstand to check the time. It was just after 7 am. In the 19 years he’d worked for the family, Gavin had never mowed the lawn this early. He saved it for the middle of the day so he didn’t risk waking anyone up. She burrowed herself beneath the covers and tried to sink back into sleep, but gave up after about ten minutes. She crawled out of bed and started getting ready for the day. It was her first full day back from college for the summer, and she’d been looking forward to sleeping in and catching up on all the sleep she’d lost during finals week. After breakfast she would go outside and have a word with Gavin.

Even though it was early, it was a weekday, with Eve knew meant that her father had already left for work and that her mother was at yoga, followed by tennis, lunch with friends, and meetings for her charitable cause of the month. She was alone for the day. Or at least, as alone as she could be in a house so huge it required live-in staff to keep things running smoothly. Eve pulled on an outfit her mother would never approve of, cutoffs and a Barnard T-shirt both purchased when she’d been away at school, and made her way down the spiral staircase into the marble floored entryway. She could smell maple syrup and bacon coming from the kitchen and entered the spacious room to find Joyce standing at the stove making breakfast.

“Good morning.” Joyce smiled up at her and slid a plate of waffles, eggs, and bacon into a place at the counter. Eve pulled herself up onto one of the barstools and waited as Joyce set a glass of orange juice in front of her. “How does it feel to be back?”

Eve smiled up at Joyce. With her father always working and her mother always off with friends or getting her hair done, Joyce has basically raised her. She’d been hired as a live-in housekeeper, but once Eve had been born her duties had shifted to being more like a nanny. Now that Eve was older, she was primarily a housekeeper again, but Eve still considered her as a close friend and confidant. “Alright.” Eve said carefully. “A lot has changed though. Since when does Gavin cut the grass this early?”

Joyce studied her. “Your parents didn’t tell you? He retired. Your father hired someone else. A young man. He’s been here for about a month. He likes to do it first.”

Eve had spent a grand total of 20 minutes with her parents the previous night before her parents headed off to some dinner fundraiser and she collapsed into bed after a long day of traveling, her father spent 10 minutes criticizing her for finishing the semester with a 3.8 instead of a 4.0 and her mother manager to insult her appearance 3 times, so it wasn’t surprising that there were things they hadn’t told her. Seeming to sense that she’d touched a nerve by bringing up her parents, Joyce quickly changed the subject and began peppering Eve with questions about what college had been like.

Eve finished her breakfast and Joyce swept the dishes away. The lawnmower was still roaring outside and she found herself growing increasingly annoyed with the sound. She tugged on shoes and headed outside with the intention of telling the new gardener to knock it off. The yard was so expansive that even though he’d been working for an hour, he was still only about halfway done. Eve tried yelling a few times to get his attention, but when that didn’t work she marched toward him and positioned herself directly in his path. He swerved around her. Eve watched him for a few moments to determine his path, then positioned herself so she was blocking his way again. He swerved around her again. This went on a few more times until he finally gave in and turned the lawnmower off.

“Can I help you?” He asked. Although she’d lived in Atlanta her whole life, Eve’s parents and most of their social set had been educated in the Northeast. No one she knew had a true southern drawl (they’d kept Eve from developing one by hiring a nanny from the Midwest and docking Eve’s allowance anytime she dropped a g). His accent was straight out of Steel Magnolias.

It took Eve a few moments to get her bearings. Now that he’d stopped moving and she could get a good look at him, she could see that he was much younger than Gavin had been, probably about her age. And cute. Very cute. Messy dark hair covered by a ballcap. Tall. Great body. And he was working without a shirt on. She tore her gaze away from his toned arms to look him straight in the eyes, which turned out to be a mistake since they were startlingly green and kept her tongue tied for a few seconds more. Finally getting a grip on herself, Eve drew herself up to her full height of five foot two and crossed her arms, trying to look as imperious as her mother did when dealing with “the help”. Then she realized she didn’t really want to resemble her mother in any way and she let herself slouch. “Um yes. I live there,” She pointed to the massive house. “And I don’t know if Gavin, the old gardener trained you or anything, but he always used to wait until the afternoon to cut the grass. You know, so people can sleep.”

A smile slowly spread across the gardener’s face, which of course just made him look even cuter. “William mentioned that he had a daughter,” Eve bristled. Everyone who worked for her family called her parents Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery, and she was Miss Montgoemery to everyone but Joyce. It felt weird to hear someone calling her father by his first name, and she wasn’t sure if she liked the blatant disregard for authority it showed. “He didn’t mention she was hot though.” He continued, letting his gaze slowly rake along her body.

Eve felt her jaw drop. She knew that, in theory, she should be flattered. One of the best looking guys she’d ever seen in her entire life was hitting on her. But this wasn’t the kind of flirting she was used to. After attending a private, all-girls school her entire life, most of her interaction with guys had been at formal dances and parties, where even the teenagers properly asked women to dance, avoided wandering hands, and grinding was strictly forbidden. “My name’s Evelyn. Or Miss Montgomery.” Eve rarely used her real name, but something about this guy made her want to act more formal, to put more distance between herself and him.

“Harry,” He waved a hand to indicate the yard. “Anyway, I’m trying to get this done before it gets too hot. It’ll be boiling by the afternoon.”

“I was trying to sleep.”

“It’s,” Harry made a big show of checking his watch, a big ugly Timex. “8 am. Most people have to work and they’re up by now. We can’t all just live off our parents, Miss Montgomery.” He said, giving her the look-at-this-spoiled-little-rich-girl look she’d been getting her whole life.

Eve felt like she’d been slapped. Even though most of her friends had parents who were just as wealthy as her, she’d been judged as the spoiled rich girl her whole life. And yes, she did have just about every material thing she wanted. But she would have traded that for a less lavish lifestyle and supportive parents any day. Being misjudged by people she didn’t even know and who never would understand her life never stopped stinging.

She knew that he was just waiting for her to threaten to tell her father about the interaction. He probably had a joke about running to daddy when things went wrong or throwing a tantrum to get what she wanted at the ready. Eve refused to give him the satisfaction. She whipped around marched back into the house without another word.

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Eve spent the next few days avoiding Harry, barely seeing her parents, and waking up before 7 am to the sound of the lawnmower (he started it earlier and earlier every morning. Eve suspected it was just to annoy her). When she had been home for a week and had spent a grand total of twenty minutes with her parents, Eve walked downstairs one morning to find her mother standing in the kitchen, correcting Joyce’s omelette-making technique. Eve glanced down at her cutoffs and tank top and wondered if she had time to run upstairs and change. Her mother saw her before she even had a chance to make a move. “Evelyn! There you are. I’ve got to run to breakfast with the girls, but I wanted to tell you that we’re having a welcome back dinner for you tonight. We’ll eat out on the patio.” Her mother looked at Eve’s outfit and wrinkled her surgically-corrected nose. “Please wear something appropriate.” She said in place of a farewell before breezing out of the house. Joyce gave Eve a sympathetic look as she slid the omelette in front of her. She’d been witness to enough family dinners to know that they were rough for Eve.

Eve spent the morning sulking and started getting ready for the dinner around 1 in the afternoon. She went through a complete self-care routine, shaving, exfoliating, moisturizing, then blow-drying and curling her hair. While both her parents had perfect golden hair, Eve’s had somehow come out a more reddish-blonde. Her mother had been trying to convince her to bleach it for years, but Eve refused. By the time she’d finished her makeup and dressed in a black shift dress and black heels, Joyce was tapping on her door to summon her down to dinner. Joyce escorted her out to the patio, which Eve had to admit looked beautiful. Harry was good at his job and the flowerbeds nearby bloomed and the hedges were neatly trimmed. The table was situated near the in-ground pool, which gleamed beneath the safety lights. The table was settled beneath a string of Christmas lights and a vase full of red roses sat at the center of the table. Her parents were already seated around the table, her father in a suit and tie and her mother in a long black dress, looking like Barbie and Ken.

Eve had only been sitting for a few minutes and Joyce hadn’t even brought out the first course when her father started talking. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your first week back at home, Evelyn.”

“I did, daddy.” She said, sensing that the conversation was about to take a turn.

“Good.” He nodded approvingly. “Now that you’ve had a little time to relax, you’ll need to start preparing for the next school year. We’ve hired a biology tutor who will come every day to help you.”

“Daddy,” Eve began to protest but was interrupted by Joyce arriving with the salad. She knew better than to argue with her parents in front of “the help”.

“Give Evelyn a little extra please.” Her mother spoke up. Joyce shot Eve an apologetic look, but knew better than to argue with her employer. “And no dressing for her.”

“Mother-” Eve began.

“Evelyn.” Her mother countered, with a look telling her not to argue. Eve bit her tongue. Once Joyce had walked away, her mother continued. “I think you gained weight while you were away at school. You’re not eating that dorm food are you?”

“Only when I don’t have time for anything else.” Evelyn admitted. Truthfully, she’d spent most of her days eating in the dining hall on quick breaks from studying. She was grateful that her parents didn’t really keep an eye on her meal plan. “But I’ve mostly been using the food budget you gave me to find places in the city.” Eve had spent most of her weekends eating her way through the city. She realized pretty quickly that since her father paid the credit card bill, her parents could see where she was eating, but not what. She had to be careful to find places where there were lots of options, knowing that eating a place that exclusively served burgers would earn her a phone call from her mother and a lecture about her eating habits. But aside from that, she’d been having a good time with her parents not controlling her diet for the first time ever. She’d been careful to keep working out to keep her weight fairly static to keep her mother’s comments at bay, but evidently that hadn’t been enough.

“While you’re here I’d like you to get back down to a two. Maybe you can start coming to yoga with me. We can’t buy you new clothes if you keep going up a size.”

Eve caught herself before she rolled her eyes. That gesture was the thing her mother hated most in the world and it would surely earn her a lecture. Her family owned the largest house for miles and the residence itself employed more people than a few local small businesses. She could walk into Neiman’s and buy the entire store if she wanted to and not even make a dent in her father’s bank account. “I still am a two mother. We bought this dress three years ago remember? It still fits.”

“It looks tight.”

“It’s not.” Eve said, though she’d had a bit of trouble getting the zipper to close and she could feel the fabric straining a bit at her hips. She flashed back to hitting up some thrift stores in New York over the winter when she’d found that some of her clothes didn’t fit (paying cash of course). Maybe she had gained weight. But it wasn’t that much.

“Yoga sounds like a good idea,” Her father spoke up suddenly. “You could go with your mother then come home and work with your tutor.”

“Daddy, it was a high A minus in one class. I was just a few points away from an A but the professor wouldn’t bump me. She told me she never does. I told you that in my email.”

“Evelyn, I know, but I want to see all As next semester. A tutor can help with that.”

“Daddy, it’s summer.” Eve knew she sounded a bit whiny, even she recognized that. But she’d been the last 8 months free from her controlling parents. Slipping back into being the obedient daughter she’d been before wasn’t going to be easy.

“Evelyn, eat your salad. We’ll talk about this more later.” Her mother broke in, making it clear that the discussion was over for now. Eve ate her dry salad in silence while her parents rattled off a list of events and activities they wanted her to attend with them during the summer.

It went on like that for another hour and a half. Eve’s father spent the soup course rattling on further about boosting her grades. Her mother spent the whole main course (after instructing Joyce to give Eve a smaller portion than normal) telling Eve how should could fix her makeup, and how to dress in more flattering styles now that she was a little bigger, and if she was sure she didn’t want to bleach her “awful red” hair. By the time Joyce brought out dessert for her parents (her mother had said that Eve didn’t need any) Eve was looking to make a quick escape.

“Joyce,” Her mother said before she could walk away. Eve watched longingly as her mother stabbed a piece of chocolate cake with her fork. Joyce’s chocolate cake was legendary.

Joyce whirled around. “Yes, Mrs. Montgomery.”

“Be in the kitchen at five thirty tomorrow morning. Evelyn will be going on a diet and I need to discuss meal preparation with you.”

“Yes, Mrs. Montgomery.” She hovered for a few moments longer, shooting Eve an apologetic look.

“You’re dismissed.”

Before Joyce had even entered the house, Eve spoke up. “Can I go to my room now?” She was feeling drained from two hours of being criticized by her parents and being unable to retaliate.

“Evelyn, you know it’s rude to leave the table while people are still eating.” Her father said.

If she’d had more energy, Eve might have commented that it was also rude to eat in front of people, but she was too tired to fight back. She zoned out as her mother rattled on about the city’s eligible young men that were back from college for the summer and how Eve should try to make plans with some of them. If she was lucky, her mother said, she could go off for her sophomore year in a relationship, date for three years, and be in the perfect position to get married right after graduation. Eve made little humming noises of agreement, though she’d secretly promised herself that she would get married before 30 over her dead body. When her parents finally finished eating and said that they were ready to retire for the evening, Eve was up in her room almost immediately. She kicked her shoes off and threw herself down on the bed, too tired to bother with showering or undressing, though she knew if her mother could she her she’d say something about Eve getting a face full of makeup on her clean white sheets. Thinking about her mother made her head hurt, so she rolled onto her back and tried to push that thought out of her mind.

Eve was just starting to feel some of her strength come back when she heard something tapping on her window. She ignored it, figuring it was just the wind or a bird. When it happened again, she sat up. Her room was on the second floor, meaning no one should be able to reach it. She got up and walked over to the window to investigate. Harry was standing just below her window, illuminated by the pool’s safety lights. As she watched, he threw a pebble at her window. She waited for the little stone to tap the glass before pushing the window open. “What are you doing here?” She didn’t have the energy to chase him away.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay. I heard some of what your parents were saying and-”

“You were eavesdropping?” She whisper-yelled down to him, fully aware of the fact that everyone else in the house was asleep. “Hold on. I’m coming down there.” She said, aware that this was probably heading into argument territory and not wanting anyone to overhear her arguing with the gardner at almost 10 pm. Eve closed her window and opened her bedroom door. As expected, the entire house was quiet and dark. Not bothering to change out of her dress or put on shoes, she slipped out of her room, down the stairs, and into the backyard. Harry was standing there waiting for her, somehow looking even cuter than he had when she’d first seen him. His hair was tousled, like he’d gotten out of bed just for this, and he was wearing basketball shorts and a Hawks T-shirt (Eve’s mother had forced her to learn about all the area sports teams as potential conversation starters with local boys).

“I wasn’t eavesdropping.” He said before Eve could even question him. “I’m living in the guesthouse,” He pointed to the small structure not far away. “I had the windows open and y’all were talking kind of loud. I was going to close them, but I-” He cut himself off. “Can you sit down actually? This is kind of a lot to explain.”

Eve settled herself on the edge of the pool, dangling her feet in the water. She was annoyed that he’d been listening in a private conversation, and a little humiliated that someone had witnessed her parents berating her. But she wanted to hear his explanation. And, a tiny part of her was happy he’d come to check in on her. No one had ever done that before. “Okay. Explain.”

Harry sat down next to her. “Okay. So this is kind of personal but my family, it’s just me and my mom and my sister. We don’t have a ton of money. It’s why I’m working here right now. I should be starting my second year of college.” Eve smiled a bit in spite of herself. Her assessment of him being about her age had been right on the money. “So when I got the job here and I saw this big house and a couple living there and they look like Barbie and Ken and she’s the perfect socialite and he’s some super high up guy in business and they have this daughter who also seems perfect, I just think everything in their lives must be flawless. So when I heard you fighting with your parents tonight it was just like of like ‘Okay things are kind of fucked up with them too.’” Eve cringed a bit. She wasn’t used to people swearing freely like that. Her mother didn’t think it was proper and had once actually washed her mouth out with soap when she’d used a curse word. “So I kind of liked seeing that, the whole everyone has problems thing. And because I liked it I kept listening. But I guess the conversation was personal. I mean, I know it was. I shouldn’t have listened. I’m sorry.”

Eve shrugged. Most of her friends had similar relationships with their parents, but for some reason they all always pretended like they came from perfectly happy families. She tried to keep up the charade too. It would be kind of nice to have someone she didn’t have to pretend around. “It’s okay.” She bit her lip nervously as she looked at him. “You heard everything though?”

“From when you sat down to when y’all left the table. Sorry.” He said, looking at her sheepishly.

Eve sighed. “I just, can you not-”

“I won’t tell anyone.” He finished for her. “And the whole thinking your life’s perfect thing, I guess that’s why I was so mean to you the other morning. I wanted to apologize for that too. You stormed outside of that huge house and were complaining to me and I just thought ‘This girl has everything in the world she could want and she’s still whining’ so my first instinct was to be a dick. But I realize that’s not the case now. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I was kind of overreacting..”

Harry got to his feet. “Stay here for a second. I have something for you.”

Eve sat alone for a few moments, swirling her feet in the pool and watching the water eddy around her toes. Harry sat down next to her again, this time carrying a box of Twinkies. He held one out to her. “Since you didn’t get dessert.”

Eve accepted it. “Thanks.” A Twinkie didn’t really measure up to Joyce’s cake taste-wise, but it was almost as good. Eve had almost never been allowed to have Hostess snacks when she was a child, so she associated them with more lenient relatives and her roommate back at school. She tore it open and bit into it, feeling the sugar and artificial preservatives hit her system. It tasted like heaven after the rabbit food dinner she’d eaten.

“I’m a twenty year old single guy living alone so my house is basically junk food city. If you’re ever craving something, just come to the guest house. I can hook you up.”

“Thanks.” Eve said again, half thanking him for the offer and half thanking him for not directly bringing up her diet. She took note of how he’d conveniently mentioned the fact that he was single.

“So,” Harry tore open a Twinkie for himself. “You never answered my original question. Are you okay?”

“Oh!” Him first appearing beneath her window seemed like it had been forever ago. “Yeah. I guess. I’m used to it.” She said truthfully. She was so used to her parents’ insults that she’d grown almost immune to them, like she’d developed an exoskeleton.

“That happens a lot?” Harry asked, frowning.

“Oh yeah.”

“Your whole life?” He sounded upset now.

“Since I was like twelve maybe.” Eve said, thinking back. Her parents had never exactly been nurturing, and her mother had always fussed over her looks, but middle school was when the real pressure had started. She felt a little on edge. She didn’t talk about this with anyone really, and she hadn’t planned on talking about it with anyone. Talking about it with a virtual stranger who was not a licensed psychiatrist was unprecedented. “From how you’re reacting I’m guessing that’s not what your family is like.”

Harry shook his head. “No. Not at all. Like, when I was a kid I would fail a spelling test and my mom would still put it on the fridge. When I brought home Cs in high school she would just smile and say that she would help me so I could do better next time. She felt awful that she couldn’t pay for me to go to college even though I probably wouldn’t have gotten in anywhere good with my shitty grades. When I told her I got his job she was ecstatic and I was like ‘Mom it’s just cutting some rich guy’s grass.’”

Eve laughed, which felt good after the night she’d had. She felt Harry watching her, letting her know that had probably been his goal all along. She was careful not to let her face fall when she thought about how different his life was from hers. She wondered what had happened to his father, but knew that despite the bonding they were doing they weren’t to that level. She’d been raised not to pry into people’s personal lives until you had a close relationship with them, and certainly not the second time you had a conversation with them.

They were both quiet for a few moments until Harry spoke. “Evelyn?”

“Call me Eve. My parents are the only ones that call me Evelyn. And you can guess how I feel about that.”

“Eve, you know nothing your parents said is true, right? I mean, a 3.8, my mom would throw a party if I got grades like that.” He hesitated for a few moments and Eve could see his cheeks turning pink even in the dim light. “And I like your hair how it is right now. And your body looks really good how it is now. Not that I was just like staring at you, but you look great in this dress. You don’t need a diet or to lose weight or anything. I meant what I said that first morning about you being hot. Though I wish I hadn’t phrased it that way.”

Eve smiled, letting the compliments sink in, feeling like rinsing the salt out of a wound after a few hours of being insulted. “Thanks. I think deep down I know they’re not right, but I hear it so much sometimes I start to question that.” She said slowly. She hadn’t even realized that until Harry had brought it up.

“If you ever need someone to talk to I’m here,” He pointed to the nearby guesthouse. “Literally. In addition to being a junk food connoisseur I’ve been told I’m very good at giving pep talks.”

“I might take you up on that. Thanks for listening to me. And thanks for checking in on me. No one’s ever done that before.”

A sad look flickered across his face and Eve got the feeling that things were done very differently in his household when someone was upset. “Do you want another Twinkie? You can hide it in your room somewhere and eat it the next time you need a pick me up.” Eve accepted one gratefully. “And I meant what I said. Anytime you need to talk to someone just come bang on my door. Or come throw rocks at my window or something.” He said with a little smile. He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek before getting to his feet. “Good night, Eve.”

f“Night.” She said, watching him walk back to the guesthouse as her cheeks turned red.

#this whole thing is like 15k words i think thats the longest fic i've ever written #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au #tbt to when harry dressed like a farmer bc thats what i was thinking of when i wrote this

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shymeg · 5 years ago

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This was no ordinary Saturday

80. "I just found out my best friend and love of my life isn't human and, you're criticizing me for being shocked?! for Anonymous

synopsis: It started out at Pop's. I was just walking home when the person I secretly loved turned into something supernatural. Was I dreaming? Was I going to make this out alive? This was no ordinary Saturday.

This was no Ordinary Saturday

I was writing my manuscript having my black coffee at Pop's like any typical Friday evening or early Saturday morning and forgetting that it was a full moon. I never really paid attention before. Why Betty and Archie never wanted to hang out with me. I mean, all I did was type away at my story. I wanted it to be as realistic as possible. I mean, after all, I was a lurker in the shadows- a lone wolf, Yet now that I think back on it, a lone wolf might die. I mean most wolves run in pacts. They aren't meant to be alone.

So, if it's alone, it was probably abandoned, so that fits me mentally. It more likely was injured in some way a defect I guess that fits me too. Wolves had a pretty coat at first, but after all the fights they get into, they tend not to maintain that beautiful coat of theirs.

So, minding my business well people, watching as I typically do. I mean, I want the best story, and after, Jason Blossom’s murder. He was shot, which is better than him drowning to death since he was supposed to be this grade A swimmer, so he should have known how to swim. That or do the dead man's float even I am capable of that one. Yet, why was he shot, and for what reason? I was pondering this exact thought when Pop Tate himself came over to me, "Hey Jug, it's 3 A.M. I need you to go home at least for a little while. So, I can pretend I'm not running a hotel."

I blushed from embarrassment. I was going to have to go to my little hole in the wall. Closet now that the drive-in was no longer. I couldn't go home. My dad was violent when he drank. It was a given he'd be drinking today probably all day it being Saturday early morning. I was not going to let my dad beat me because he was drunk or asked where I have been? Where was his food if I was at Pop's. When he knew my job was at the drive-inn and now that was gone taken from me. I still held the picture in my backpack of JellyBean and me. It made my heart hurt. Knowing her and mom just up and left me with that monster. Yet, I think I reminded mom by looks alone too much of him, and she couldn't see my face. I had resentment sure which 15-year-old kid wouldn't?

Yet looking at Pop Tate, I understood his predicament. I stayed for hours here, unless Archie invited me to his place, which was less these days because he was so into football. Pop fed me like I was his foster son. He never asked for payment, and every once in a while, I'd do odd and end jobs, and he'd smile, and I would feel like I repaid some of my debt. Knowing it could never truly be repaid. Pop Tate was a saint for putting up with me, feeding me and keeping me warm this long without asking any questions.

I nodded and said, "Thanks, Pop." He put out his hand, and a paper bag was in it, "For the road until I see you again for breakfast," he had a genuine grin on his face. Like he truly wanted me back. I took the bag, and I hugged him. He embraced my hug.

I was heading for the school and to my secret window when I heard a noise in the bushes. I figured it was just a rabbit. Yeah, a rabbit. Yet, it was howling like a wolf. I wanted to creep closer. Was it hurt? Why would a wolf be in Riverdale? Maybe, just maybe it was an injured dog. I thought back to Archie's dog, and I wouldn't want it lying there alone, crying.

So, I took out my pocket knife encase. I went closer to the bushes, and that's when I saw it. The most vivid white wolf I have ever seen with these emerald eyes pleading for me to stay away. Yet, I couldn't. I looked at the wolf, and I saw that its paw was bleeding badly. The wolf was also limping, and I wondered, was the leg broken? Was it merely limping do to the paw alone? I wasn't sure, and I was about to call the DNR when the wolf smacked my phone away from my hand.

I was fuming. That phone and my computer may be old, but that's all I had. It wasn't a smartphone like my friends had, but it was a phone, and it was mine. If that stupid wolf broke it, I was going to be livid. Yet, I looked again, it's emerald eyes and saw the pain. Like I could feel it, but how?

I went to try to get my phone when the stupid wolves paw landed on it, "Hey," I shouted. Great, I'm talking to a wolf. When suddenly, the wolf let out a yelp. I saw it. I thought I was dreaming at first, but no, I was still here before Riverdale High and my hole in the wall. The wolf was transforming before my very eyes.

Her vivid white fur becomes peach-colored skin. She had on pink polka undies that made me blush and a pink bra again, making me blush for looking. I turned around embarrassed for her and myself. I would never want to get caught like this. Yet, I wasn't a werewolf. Wait, those are real? I turned to see a shimmer of blonde, yet instead of that iconic ponytail, her hair was wavy and down. It couldn't be, could it? No, way Betty Cooper was a werewolf? Yes, I must be dreaming. I pinched myself. Nope, still here. I heard her whimper behind me. I knew she was injured. Yet, she was practically naked.

I realized I still had my flannel shirt around my waist, so I threw it to her. Hoping that would help. I decided to walk fast away from her towards the direction of the school. I was livid. Why didn't Betty tell me? I thought I was her horror movie, buddy? Her go-to number 2 guy? Only because she wanted Archie. I could never be Archie. I was the cynic, the half-empty guy, the loner that nobody wanted to say out loud they were my friend. I was the social pariah, the outcast, the person from the wrong side of town, the one that shouldn't even be going to Riverdale High. Yet, I was told by my social worker that I'd be going because they didn't want to fail me. I had potential. Blah. I was so mad at Betty. It's not even sunrise yet, so why was she changing? Was it because she was hurt? I didn't care; I muttered to myself. I had no real clue how the Supernatural worked. I never truly believed in it. Now, I saw what she was a werewolf, and I was truly alone.

Next thing I knew, I spun around so fast and was thrown to the ground held down. "What did you see?" "Get off of me" I tried to fight her off, but she was too strong.

"I'll let you go when you tell me what you saw," Betty gripped harder.

I yelped in pain. I just wanted her to let go. Her eyes looked sharp, jagged even. Did her eyes glow? Did I imagine that? I have no idea anymore about anything.

I closed my eyes and hoped this was all a bad fucked up nightmare. I just wanted to go to my bed in the hole in the wall. I just wanted my friend Betty the one I thought was like me, well human, anyway.

I felt a tear pierce my skin. Of course, I'd cry. "I'm not going away" her voice was angry and husky I looked up I swear my eyes were pleading with hers, "I didn't see anything, I just want to go home." she shook me hit my head against the ground, "You lie!" Sure we all lie, but in this case, not really. I turned around when Betty changed. I didn't see her get hurt. I heard the cry and was hoping it was an injured dog. "i... I di...did didn't sssseee any anything." Great, now I'm stuttering! she scratched me, "Lie again, and it will be your eye!" I thought she was my friend. I thought wrong. I Gulped down as more tears began to fall. "What do you want me to say? I'll say it," I began to plead. I feel defeated, feeling humiliated. My heart rejected by a friend I knew since Childhood.

Her green eyes looked straight into me. Like she could see my soul. She shivered. She howled. I thought she changed from her wolf form? Why was she still howling? Is it a process? Does she not realize she's not a wolf anymore? My mind was thinking and analyzing every little thing when she hit me. "Get up!" Yeah, that would be so easy. That's what I was doing when you rudely laid me flat. Wouldn't let me get up, but now you will after threatening my eye? I wanted to scream. Yet I got up on wobbly legs. She put my hands behind my back, and she looked like she was going to kill me. "What did you see?" "Nothing, I turned my back." "What did you see before that?" "a wolf that was injured. I was going to call the DNR, but the wolf rudely took my phone." She had the nerve to look at me sheepishly." This phone?" As she picked it up off the ground? Slipping the phone into my back pocket so I couldn't get it. Betty's green eyes stared straight into my blue eyes and stated, "you aren't lying." I wanted to scream, no shit. Instead, I said, "Can I go now?" She looked sad, "Unfortunately, No." "WHAT" "You can't because you saw me." "I did not" I stomped my foot I was throwing a tantrum. "Jughead, you did. You handed me this." I finally looked at her. She was wearing my flannel. It made my heart sing. Yet, something else filled it with dread. She was using that against me. Cause I gave her my clothes? "Hand it back. We can pretend I never saw you with basically nothing on. My apologies you wanted to walk around with your bra and panties." Betty looked pissed at me now, and I didn't care, "I CAN'T have your smell on me, Jughead. If I go back and we don't explain what happened, you might have a hit out on you from one of them thinking you can't be trusted." I glared at her, "Really, they'd kill me because I know? Well, why don't you kill me? I have no protection, anyway!" She laughed and smiled, "Oh Jug, you are so dramatic." she shrugged, "Plus, why are you overreacting about this?"

Had I entered the twilight zone? It was the full moon, after all. But somehow I went off, "Really, Betty, you hid this from me, I was supposed to be your friend. Why would you expect me to be okay with this? You threaten me. You hurt me, and you don't care. You act like this is a normal thing. I want to go home and go to sleep."

Betty's wickedness was back, "Oh Jug, but your house is in the opposite direction. The way you were walking was to the High School. So, I'm not the only one holding secrets. Plus, I couldn't kill you, but I might use you as my pet. If you continue with this little game of yours, so stop being upset and march. I wouldn't want to have to force you."

I gulped. I felt Betty's hand on my neck. She kissed my cheek. she whispered in my ear, "If you are a good boy, I might let you sleep in my bed later." She smiled that wicked smile, "I always liked you, Jug, and after tonight, don't worry, I won't turn you, but I might just make you mine."

I thought this would be a typical night to walk home. I was deadly wrong. I'd be happy if I made it out of this still alive along with being human as I marched to the unknown with my hands behind my back with a robust supernatural being that I love.

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miraculouscontent · 6 years ago

Photo

You ready to go for a ride?

MC Chloé was raised into a family of important people. Her father was André Bourgeois, mayor of Paris and owner of the Le Grand Paris hotel, while her mother was Audrey Bourgeois, queen of fashion and world-renowned fashion critic.

As a young child, Chloé spent her time in her room in the hotel, her butler catering to her every whim. Occasionally, she would be sent over to play with Adrien in the Agreste household, being the only friend the other had at the time.

André loved his daughter to bits. He made sure she was taken care of at all times, visited her in whenever he was free, and praised her for anything and everything.

And that was the exact problem. One day, André presented her with a gift: Mr. Cuddly, a teddy bear that had been designed in her image (with Chloé’s tendency towards white-and-black stripes and her--as André would call them--”12-carat” eyes). Chloé loved it and began asking for more.

It all went downhill from there. Asking turned to begging. Begging turned to demanding. André was helpless against his daughter, giving her anything she wanted without argument. He didn’t see the problem with it; she was his baby girl and she deserved the world!

Her parents certainly weren’t in agreement with how to deal with her. Unlike André, Audrey was unaffected by Chloé’s demands. In her view, Chloé had to earn what she wanted, and demanding certainly wasn’t going to get Chloé anything from her. She scolded Chloé--even tried to teach her about fashion--but Chloé was typically lost in whatever gift André had given her that day.

Audrey tried still, despite her frustration. She’d paid for eight years of private classes from Aurélie Dupont and Chloé’s first year had at least looked promising.

Yet, every time Audrey thought she might have made progress, André went behind her back and coddled Chloé. He saw it as protection; perhaps he thought that Audrey was too strict with her.

Audrey was sick of it. She was sick of this flaky half-man who fell at her feet yet ignored everything she had to say.

So, Audrey packed up and left. Fashion was her true family and it was time to return to it, full-time.

As Chloé went through school, thoroughly spoiled and never disciplined by her father, she began seeking the easiest ways to get through life. She befriended Sabrina, someone who was easily manipulated into doing what Chloé wanted. A little hat there, a little jewelry there, maybe a little sob story once in a while, and Sabrina was putty in her manicured hands.

Even Adrien, who Chloé may have once seen as a good friend, was another easy way to the top.

Adrien was nothing but a model--the son of a famous fashion designer--just as Chloé was the daughter of the mayor. That was all she saw and all that mattered.

Her streak as a bully was inevitable. She had power, and the principal folded under any threat of calling her father (regardless of how effective that might've been), essentially making her invincible. All students were beneath her as far as she was concerned.

Especially Marinette Dupain-Cheng. If there was one person Chloé hated most in the entire school, it was Marinette.

Marinette with her pitiful friendly smile. Marinette with her clothes that she handmade instead of buying. Marinette with her parents who didn’t have power but were famous in Paris anyway.

Marinette, with the blue in her eyes that shined more vibrantly than the blue in Chloé’s eyes ever had.

Marinette was the worst, and Chloé did everything in her power to ensure that Marinette would never step above her.

Chloé didn’t often go out of her way to bully others if she didn’t have something to gain, but she made an exception for Marinette.

When akumatizations became a thing, it was clear that Chloé was going to become a problem. Not all akumatizations caused by her were inherently malicious, but to say she was self-absorbed was an understatement.

Reflekta? She wanted to have proof in the school's photos that she knew someone important.

Princess Fragrance? She didn't so much as touch the letter, being disgusted by the very idea of touching anything that was sprayed by such cheap perfume.

Horrificator? Getting a starring role in a film where she gets to kiss Adrien (sorry, the son of someone famous) would surely benefit her in the future.

And people let it go for a while. Chloé got a free ride for a chunk of Season 1. It’s not as if anyone could do anything about it; Chloé had an insult and threat prepared at all times, with Sabrina at her side to do whatever she wanted. The only comeupances she got were from the world, not others (ex: the signed photo of Adrien not being restored by Miraculous Ladybug in “Dark Cupid”).

But Chloé couldn’t go forever without losing something, and that something was Sabrina. It had started out steadily, with Marinette trying to convince Sabrina that Chloé wasn’t right for her; that Sabrina would be better off without friends than with Chloé.

But Sabrina was still conditioned under Chloé’s gifts and Sabrina’s own fears of being alone. Marinette had made a dent, but it wasn’t enough.

Then, Antibug happened (a similar episode but without “Vanisher”), where Chloé tried to use the exact same strategy; showering Sabrina with gifts as if her abandoning Sabrina had never happened. It worked, but Sabrina was beginning to feel on edge.

Rogercop was the breaking point. Chloé knew deep down that André wouldn’t fire Sabrina’s father, but she was against her “worst enemy” (Marinette) and refused to back down.

“What kind of cop do you think you are?” Chloé refuted, pointing an accusing finger in Roger’s direction. “I had something stolen from me and you don’t even care enough to investigate?!”

“Now, now,” Roger argued, “We still don’t know for sure that it’s been stolen--”

“I do!” Chloé gestured to Marinette’s purse. “It’s in that bag; I know it is!”

Tom stepped forward. With all of the stories Marinette had told him, he’s not surprised at this upstart’s claims, but he’s very much infuriated. “Young lady, you will not talk about my daughter that way as if she’s a criminal!”

Roger raised his hands, ready to try and calm the situation once more, but Chloé wasn’t done.

She turned to Sabrina, who stepped back meekly. “Sabrina, is your daddy really questioning me, the mayor’s daughter?”

“C-chloé,” Sabrina attempted. “I-I don’t--”

Chloé shot Roger a glare. “You’re fired!”

Sabrina gaped.

Chloé turned to André. “Daddy, fire him, right now!”

André gave Chloé a hard stare. “Chloé, there’s no way I can do that. That’d be a horrible misuse of my--”

“Chloé!” Sabrina cried out. Suddenly, everyone’s eyes were on her. “Why would you do that? He’s my father!”

Chloé huffed. “Because he’s not doing his job! You don’t care either, do you, Sabrina! You’re supposed to be my best friend!”

Sabrina cowered, sniffling. “O-of course I care!”

Chloé was rambling to the rest of the class by now, ignoring Sabrina just as she always did when Sabrina didn’t hold value to her.

Under her breath, Sabrina whispered sadly, “I thought you were supposed to be my best friend too...”

By the end of the episode, Sabrina would move seats and sit next to Ivan (who’s indifferent to her but ultimately a nice guy who doesn’t see a huge problem with it). Chloé approaches Sabrina and demands to know why she moved, to which Sabrina meekly replies that she doesn’t want to be friends with Chloé anymore.

Chloé is offended, but acts smug and returns to her own seat, certain that Sabrina will come back to her eventually. Sabrina always comes back.

Sabrina doesn’t come back.

Once season 2 hits (and Sabrina has made a few friends, particularly Nathaniel), people start fighting back against Chloé. It’s not just the universe or karma that’s fighting her; it’s everyone in Miss Bustier’s class. They defend each other, mock Chloé ’s ways of rising to the top, and complain when Chloé isn’t properly punished by the teachers/principal.

Even Miss Bustier, who’d enabled Chloé for a long time, stops coddling her after "Zombizou,” even forcing her to apologize to the class. She starts being stricter and stops tolerating Chloé’s outbursts and disrespect of other students.

Things get worse for Chloé during Despair Bear. Adrien got sick of her behavior and had been questioning their relationship (what little was left of it) for a long time, so he leaves.

Chloé tries to be nice for him. She throws a party and tries to convince Adrien back to her side.

She already lost Sabrina. She’s not going to lose Adrien too!

And Adrien is convinced at first. He thought she was trying. He thought she enjoyed being nice.

And maybe, deep down, she did. Maybe, for just a moment, she enjoyed that everyone was smiling at her rather than leering at her.

But, the second Adrien agreed to be friends with Chloé again, she went right back to doing what she was doing before.

In the middle of her criticisms of Marinette’s macaroons, Adrien calls out to her. His gaze isn’t desperate or sad like it was when he’d first broken up their friendship. Instead, it's stern.

“You lied to me. I thought you wanted to prove that you were nice--I wanted you to be nice--because you used to be, a long time ago. I kept sticking up for you, but you hurt my friends. You hurt Marinette. You hurt me. It...it’s over, Chloé. We’re done. I can’t be friends with you anymore.”

She’d broken the last straw. She’d lost Adrien too.

Chloé huffs. She seethes. She goes home and throws things around in a blind rage-filled tantrum.

She might cry just a little.

The gall. The nerve! First Sabrina and now Adrien?! What was the world coming too?!

They must be deluded, Chloé concludes. They only started rebelling against her recently. Something must’ve happened! Obviously, she couldn’t have done anything.

All she has to do is figure it out and get rid of their delusions once and for all.

However, Chloé remained completely oblivious to the fact that she was the one who caused the delusions.

Cut to “Style Queen” and the return of Chloé’s mother, Audrey Bourgeois. Chloé doesn’t remember much about her mother, but she sees Audrey’s status. She sees Audrey’s worth.

She follows Audrey, copies Audrey’s movements, and tries to do whatever she can to get on Audrey’s good side.

Audrey, however, is not impressed. Not by Chloé, at least.

Once again, Chloé finds herself one-upped by Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Audrey adores and praises Marinette, going on and on about how brilliant and talented Marinette is. She even wants Marinette to go back to New York with her!

Chloé screams. She stomps her feet. She points accusingly at Marinette and demands to know why Audrey would take Marinette of all people

Audrey makes it explicitly clear. She’s taking Marinette because Marinette’s exceptional.

Chloé protests; she’s exceptional too! Her eyes fill with unshed tears, because none of her tactics are working anymore. She had to be smarter on her own without Sabrina around and she’s failed at doing that. Even her own mother is against her. No one’s giving her attention anymore.

Audrey looks down at her with a judgmental frown.

“The only thing exceptional about you... is your mother.”

Chloé’s eyes widen with a fury. Everyone gapes at the sheer bluntness of Audrey’s words.

André brings his hands down to Chloé’s shoulders. “A-audrey, dear--”

Chloé’s tears are already gone, as if they evaporated from Chloé’s rage alone. Huffing, Chloé shoves André away. If she had something special--something to prove that she was powerful--she would've whipped it out right then and there to show her mother she was someone important.

She has nothing.

“I’m the mayor’s daughter! I’m your daughter!” she yells. “Why don’t you love me?!”

Everyone else went stiff at the screaming going on, but Audrey stands firm, unmoving and unafraid by Chloé’s childish outbursts.

Her arms crossed, Audrey lifts a single hand and calmly points at Chloé. “That’s why.”

A bit of confusion overshadows Chloé’s anger. She stares down at herself, trying to follow Audrey’s pointing.

She doesn’t understand. She grits her teeth. Her fists tighten at her sides. She goes to yell again.

Marinette tries to step in. “M-miss Bourgeois, I--”

Audrey casts a gaze over to Marinette, the sternness in it replaced with a calm understanding. “Don’t worry, Feather Princess. You’ll get your turn.”

Marinette pauses. She raises a brow, confused.

Audrey turns back to Chloé. Without looking, she plucks Marinette’s hat off of Adrien’s head. “Do you know this hat, Chlorine?”

“Chloé!” Chloé corrects loudly.

“Answer the question,” Audrey says, her voice firm and unwavering.

Chloé stares down at the hat. She glares at it.

Of course she recognizes it.

Looking up at Audrey, Chloé points to Marinette. “It’s her ridiculous design! Her and her stupid feathers!”

“Yet you stole it,” Audrey states. “This was Marinette’s hat and you stole her design. If it weren’t for Marinette’s signature, you might’ve gotten away with it, hm?”

Chloé says nothing, silently seething. Audrey puts the hat back.

“I--” Chloé swallows, then straightens, bringing back her energy. “I did stuff on my own! I ran for class representative!”

“And what happened there?” Audrey asks, not even bothering to feign innocence.

Chloé casts a glare to Marinette, who was pretending to be distracted by the floor.

“You think I don’t know about everything you did?” Audrey steps forward. “You couldn’t win on your own, could you? You had to get your father to help you, and even then, you tried to threaten your opponent by stealing her diary.”

Audrey glances at Marinette. Chloé knows that Audrey knows who that opponent was.

“You also sabotaged the dish of her uncle,” Audrey points out. “You accused her of stealing from you. You called the fire department and pinned the blame on her.”

Audrey steps forward. Chloé steps back.

“Even those eight years of private classes I gave you. What happened?”

“I was going to be picked!” Chloé protests. “I was incredible!”

“But you weren’t picked,” Audrey reminds her. “And who took your place?”

Yet again, Chloé falls silent.

Audrey continues, “You were so upset that you tried to get the music video canceled.”

Chloé drops her gaze to the floor. Audrey bends over, making herself eye level with Chloé. Their faces are mere inches away, almost forcing Chloé to make eye contact.

Audrey speaks, “Because you were jealous of what she had--”

“I’M NOT JEALOUS!” Chloé screams, jerking her head up.

Once again, Audrey isn’t phased. Chloé’s voice had been dripping with jealousy. The point had been made.

Chloé pants, her rage no longer able to whip up a storm. It’s diminishing, like a fire without enough wood. No one’s phased by even her outbursts anymore.

Audrey stands straight, glancing down at Marinette. “Well? Do you have anything to say to her?”

Marinette looks up at Audrey, then to Chloé. She’s silent, but there's a pain in her expression; a pain caused by years of being bullied.

Audrey glances back at Adrien. “And you, Butterfly Prince? You were friends with her once.”

Chloé glares at Adrien, letting out a one final, “Adrikins.”

Adrien stares back, but shakes his head, looking away from her with an immense disappointment in his eyes.

Chloé feels a sharp stinging in her chest, but she ignores it. She growls, then lets out a frustrated yell before storming out of the building.

André gives one fleeting glance back at everyone else, then meekly follows after Chloé.

Those of you who remember my very first post on MC Audrey will probably recall the dialog at the end of it. It takes place on the same day as Audrey berating Chloé, but Chloé also hears part of it.

Chloé had walked back into the building before the conversation began. She had no plan, no strategy, but she was looking for something to set her sights on. Catching sight of Audrey and Marinette (and simultaneously their conversation) had been an accident.

“Let me ask you something. Did you see Chloe’s face change when I was talking to you? Those tears in her eyes came when I called you exceptional. They were tears of frustration that I was giving you the attention she wanted from me. She made it all about her.

“And when I offended her? Implied that she was unexceptional? There weren’t tears anymore. That was all rage.

“I know more than enough about people like her. The second she went home and got handed her next shiny object, she forgot all about it because the world felt like hers again."

And in the short pause, from her place behind a wall, Chloé stared down at her hands.

She's holding a golden phone case; something that her dad had given her to calm her down. It had worked.

Chloé said nothing, but walked away before she could hear any more of the conversation, because she didn't want to hear any more.

Next up is "Malediktator." The classroom is a cruel place for Chloé to be when she's just got off of "Queen Wasp."

Aside from staring out the window, Chloé can't look anywhere without being reminded of her failures.

W-wait. Not her failures. Other people's failures. That's right.

If she looks behind her, Sabrina is conversing with Nathaniel. If she looks to her left, Adrien doesn't even spare her a glance. If she looks to her front, Miss Bustier gives her a wary gaze that tells her not to try anything.

Plus, Marinette apparently has Audrey's number now and Audrey's been texting her with critiques on her latest fashion designs.

Marinette, Marinette, Marinette. It always has to be about her, doesn't it?

Chloe jerks up all of a sudden, because she realizes something.

All this time--all these failures--have been because of Marinette. In Chloé's twisted view, Marinette was there for all of them, so she must've done this.

Because that's easy. It's easiest to blame Marinette for this and not admit that it was Chloé herself who messed everything up.

Chloé believes that everything will go back to the way it was before if she just gets rid of Marinette. Thus, Chloé leaves the classroom (despite Miss Bustier's protests) and heads right for her father, ready to make one final push to get him to abuse his power.

"Daddy!" Chloé calls, pushing the doors open so forcefully that they slam against the wall.

André flinches, looking fearful at first, then frowns with concern. "Chloé, my dear! What's wrong? Shouldn't you be in school?"

Chloé walks forward, slamming her hand on his desk. "Marinette Dupain-Cheng has wronged me for the last time!"

"That girl again?" André asks, albeit warily. All his meetings with Marinette had been fine (if a bit...interesting at times), and André knows that Marinette is a good student despite her absences. "What did she do?"

"She turned everyone against me!" Chloé declares. "She set up this whole plot to make all my friends leave!"

André chews his bottom lip. He knows where this is going.

"I want her expelled--NO--" Chloé slams her other hand on the desk. "--I want her and her family banished from Paris!"

André gapes. "Chloé, dearest, you know I can't do that. That would be a horrible misuse of my--"

"That's what you always say!" Chloé throws her arms up, exasperated. "You're the mayor!"

She gestures to the sash he wears. "What's the point of your stupid sash if you won't use it for me, your own daughter?!"

André might've been slightly offended at the notion that his role as mayor was pointless. "Chloé, I love you, but you're asking too much of me. I'll give you any gift you want, but--"

Chloé fumes, immediately reminded of what her mother had said about her. She swats at the papers on André's desk, scattering them up into the air. "No! I don't want your ridiculous gifts! I don't want your so-called love! I--"

Chloé breathes up, not even thinking. "I HATE YOU, DADDY!"

The room goes still, the papers having fallen ungracefully to the floor. André's eyes are wide and hurt, like he's been cut at the heart from the inside.

Chloé, too filled with rage to care, turns away. She storms out and makes sure to slam the doors behind her as hard as she can.

Then, she braces herself against them, mentally exhausted. She breathes, her anger dissipating into a dull annoyance in the back of her head.

As she stands there, coming to full mental clarity, her eyes widen. She looks back at the door, then recoils from it as if it had burned her. In the silence of the room, she realizes what she'd just said to her father and how hurt he was by it.

Without meaning to, she'd turned away the last person who was there for her, all by herself.

No. No, that...that's what André needed to hear. He refused her demands and deserved to be yelled at. Chloé should just use her connections--move to New York herself--and then André would miss her and have no choice but to give her what she wants.

That's what Chloé tells herself, but as she starts to leave the building, she doesn't look so sure.

Cut to Chloé in her helicopter leaving Paris and Malediktator stopping it. When Chloé first sees her father akumatized, she's horrified. Countless akumatized people had come after her and she remembers the horrible things she said to her dad. He was no doubt furious with her.

She expects the worst and tries to run, but he cuts her off. He opens his mouth to speak and she instinctively flinches.

Yet, he tells her that he can give her whatever she wants now; that he'll prove that he loves her, because he's Malediktator and no longer bound to what André might've believed.

And Chloé hesitates. That's not at all what she expected. It even sounds...nice?

Malediktator takes her away to her room in his hotel and starts to shower with affection and gifts. He praises her, apologizes to her, and gives her everything she asks for.

And Chloé likes it at first. She loves it even. Certainly, she was right to yell at André, because it got him to really listen to her!

She starts feeling like Season 1 Chloé all over again; like she's on top of the world and no one can touch her.

But when she's lost in that fantasy and turns her head to talk to Sabrina, she gets the first strike of reality.

Oh. That's right. Sabrina's not here. Adrien's not here. Sabrina left. Adrien left. Chloé thought that drowning herself in material possessions would fix all of it, but it somehow just serves as a reminder of how alone she is.

Malediktator sees Chloé's unhappiness and leaves. When he returns, he brings Sabrina and Adrien with him. At first, Chloé is thrilled, because she thought they came back for her.

But then, she notes that they're mind-controlled by Malediktator. Sabrina is at her side immediately and Adrien starts talking about how amazing Chloé is and how he’s deeply in love with her.

Chloé tells herself this is fine. After all, she was just using them anyway, so really, it should make no difference to her whether they're mind-controlled or not.

Eventually, Malediktator even brings her Audrey, who's equally mind-controlled and dotes on Chloé, telling her how she's perfect the way she is and that she should never change.

Chloé smiles, but she's unnerved. She thought she deserved praise. She thought she deserved everyone admiring her.

But this feels wrong. Everything feels off. Nothing feels real. Chloé believed that material possessions and blind affection would make her happy, but they don't.

She doesn't want this.

Malediktator leaves to go look for Ladybug and Chat Noir. Chloé, uncomfortable with the three people around her, makes excuses and gets them to leave due to a very long and complicated request. Then, she runs off to the roof, hiding behind a chair to sulk.

Her world is crashing down. She's not happy. She's alone. Malediktator brought her company yet she still felt alone because there was nothing real about it.

And it's all her fault.

Ladybug finds her while she's swinging along, trying to find a holder to give the bee miraculous to (since Chat is apparently MIA again). She lands, noting that Chloé seems almost traumatized, what with how she's holding her head and shaking.

"Chloé?" Ladybug calls warily.

Chloé flinches, then slowly peeks up, afraid to find someone else under mind control. "L-ladybug?"

Ladybug kneels down to Chloé's level, nodding. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yes," Chloé answers quietly. She looks to Ladybug with urgency. "You have to stop my daddy! He's been akumatized!"

"I know," Ladybug says calmly. She eyes Chloé up and down, taking note of her pitiful state. "What happened? Is he after you?"

Chloé goes silent, staring at Ladybug for only a moment longer before looking down at the ground.

"Chloé. I need to know," Ladybug stresses.

"...No. Not really."

"No?" Ladybug asks, surprised. "Then, what are you doing out here? Why are you so shook up?"

Another beat of silence. Ladybug hesitates, not wanting to pry, but she needs information.

She gently grabs Chloé's shoulders. Chloé stiffens at the gesture, but her head remains bowed and her body continues shaking. Ladybug is firm, trying not to get frustrated. "Chloé, please. This is serious. He has dangerous powers. I need to know where his akuma is. Do you have any idea--"

"IT'S MY FAULT, OKAY?!"

Ladybug recoils, pulling her hands away. When Chloé looks back up at Ladybug, her eyes are full of tears.

"It's my fault! I yelled at him. I-I told him I hated him. He got akumatized because of me." She suddenly lets out a sob, hunching over with regret. "Everyone gets akumatized because of me."

"B-but..." Ladybug begins, unsure of what to do in this situation. "You said he wasn't after you."

"H-he's not," Chloé confirms. "He wants to give me everything I ever wanted."

Ladybug blinks. It’s so unlike Chloé to refuse such a offer. "That's...bad?"

Chloé flops over, staring at nothing. "...It's not what I want."

She starts sobbing harder, her cheeks red with embarrassment. She turns her face down to help hide her expression, but her sobbing worsens. "I-I want Sabrina and Adrikins back. I want to be exceptional."

Ladybug raises a hand towards Chloé, but stops herself. She doesn't know how to feel, staring down at her bully of so many years.

Finally, Ladybug brings her hand down, gently rubbing Chloé's head. She looks around warily, making sure Malediktator wasn't around, then focuses back on Chloé. "Are you sorry?"

Chloé peeks up at her. "W-what?"

"Good friends don't leave for no reason," Ladybug points out, trying to act as if she knows nothing of Chloé‘s situation. "Did you hurt them?"

Chloé sniffles, then chokes. She's curled up, not even bothering to lift her head. She pauses, then mumbles something under her breath.

"What?" Ladybug asks, not hearing.

Chloé looks up at her miserably, then places a hand on one of Ladybug's legs. She pulls herself up slightly, then lets her face fall into Ladybug's lap.

"I'm sorry."

Ladybug's eyes widen.

Chloé continues, "I have no friends. They all left because I made everyone miserable. I was just--" She cut herself off briefly with a sob. "--jealous."

Ladybug places her hands on Chloé's shoulders, saying nothing.

"I'm sorry," Chloé says again. She repeats it, muttering into Ladybug's lap. "I'm sorry to everyone. I'm sorry to Daddy."

She chokes again. There's a deep sense of regret in her voice. "I-I'm sorry to Marinette."

Ladybug gapes. It‘s the first time Chloé has ever said that name without any scorn or disgust.

Ladybug stares down at Chloé quietly, pausing for a long moment, then looks around.

"Being exceptional takes a lot of work," she says. Idly, she pulls out the box containing the bee miraculous. "Being loved for who you are takes a lot of heart."

She pushes Chloé up. "But you can't do it the way you are. Feeling bad is only the first step. Change is something you have to want."

Chloé meets Ladybug's gaze, her sobbing having quieted but tears still running down her cheeks.

Ladybug asks simply, "Do you want to change?"

Chloé stares at Ladybug, long and hard. She stares down into her own lap, then her hands, then looks back at Ladybug. "I...I do. But...everyone who would know how to left me. H-how do I even start?"

"You can start by doing something for good, and not because you want attention," Ladybug states. "Are you ready for that?"

Chloé wipes her tears, nodding vigorously.

Ladybug smiles. "Then, Chloé, this is the miraculous of the bee..."

It's just the start, but Ladybug gives Chloé that chance to do something great while not taking credit for it as herself. They face Malediktator together, and Queen Bee is able to use her private dance lessons to skillfully dodge Malediktator's orbs.

She's using what she has for something good, for an unselfish purpose. Ladybug gives her constructive criticism when Queen Bee's not paying attention, but congratulates her for successful dodges and is impressed by her moves.

It makes Queen Bee feel important and noticed, but simultaneously makes her want to be better.

And, once Chloé de-transforms, she returns the miraculous and immediately rushes to her father, hugging him and mumbling apologies.

Ladybug watches quietly. Ultimately, it was André's spoiling that led Chloé down this cruel path, but Chloé wasn't without fault. It wouldn't be wise to leave Chloé without someone to properly guide her.

This gives Ladybug an idea. More specifically, it gives Marinette the idea to go see Chloé at the hotel the very next day.

Marinette brings Chloé to the park, where Audrey is standing next to her helicopter, ready to head back to New York.

Audrey looks over, directing her gaze towards Chloé. "I was told you had something to say to me?"

Chloé glances back at Marinette, unsure. Marinette gives her a reassuring nod.

Chloé approaches Audrey. She stares down at the grass, hands cupped in front of her. "M-mom, I..."

Audrey raises a brow, noting Chloé's demeanor.

"I'm sorry," Chloé manages. She stiffens, the next words hard to say. "...You're right. I'm not exceptional. I always got everyone to do everything for me. I don't know how to do anything myself. It was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous."

She continues, meeting Audrey's gaze, "B-but I want to learn how to be exceptional. I want you to teach me, s-so..."

Audrey is quiet for a long time, Chloé shifting her hands about as if her palms were sweating. Chloé looks back down, afraid of her mother's judgmental eyes.

But then, Audrey raises a hand, lifting Chloé's chin to encourage Chloé to look at her. Audrey smiles. "I hope you're ready for the lesson of your life then, my dear Chloé."

Chloé's eyes widen. She gasps. As Audrey turns to get into the helicopter, Chloé looks back at Marinette in awe.

Marinette offers her two thumb's up.

Chloé turns eagerly back to Audrey, stepping one foot onto the helicopter.

She stops.

Marinette blinks, confused.

Chloé's eyes briefly dart back to Marinette, then to the ground. Her cheeks were turning red and she looks conflicted.

Finally, Chloé steps down, walking towards Marinette with her hands tightened into fists.

Marinette holds her hands up, almost afraid that Chloé has snapped and is about to fight her, but Chloé holds something out to her instead.

A golden phone case.

"H-here," Chloé insists. "I-it's not like I'll need it anyway."

Marinette takes the case in her hands. The gold shines back at her due to the sun's rays. She smiles, holding the case to her chest. "Thanks."

Chloé quickly runs off to join Audrey.

And that would be the last we hear from Chloé for a while. After so many episodes that involved her directly, there's some downtime where nothing focuses on her at all. There are occasional calls from Audrey in episode openers, or episodes where Audrey visits and vents to Marinette about some of Chloé's more ridiculous outbursts in New York, but point being, we don't see her for a while.

Then, at some point before the Season 2 finale, just as Miss Bustier's students are settling down to begin class, Miss Bustier makes an announcement. She says that a student is returning to them.

The door opens, and in steps Chloé, who looks very different from what she looked like when she left. Personally, I'd go with something similar to her (slightly edited by me) concept art:

- Hair let free (with perhaps only the back of her hair in a ponytail).

- Little to no make-up.

- Modest clothing that innovates her mother’s style without copying it verbatim.

- Wider eyes and a smile that doesn't make her look like she's constantly sneering.

The entire class is silent, but Chloé pretends to be calm, brushing a lock of hair behind an ear. She steps up next to Miss Bustier, who asks if Chloé has anything to say (though even she looks a bit wary).

Chloé breathes up, her face turned toward the class but her eyes drawn to the floor.

Marinette can see her nervousness. She can see that Chloé wants so badly to make a good re-introduction.

A moment later, Chloé simply states that she knows how everyone felt about her before she left, and hopes they can accept the new her as someone different. It's not the best choice of words, and Chloé is clearly struggling to face everyone at once, but Marinette can see that she's trying.

However, no one can expect the class to just forget about everything she did. After a long silence, Sabrina looks away first, then Nathaniel, then the rest of the class, excluding Marinette.

Chloé grimaces. Miss Bustier doesn't have to tell her that her old seat is still available because Chloé is already walking over there, sliding closer to the window before slumping pitifully into her desk.

Marinette watches silently, looking around to see if maybe someone in the class will react differently to her, but there's no one. Steeling herself up, Marinette stands.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" Marinette asks.

Chloé looks up. Marinette points to the seat next to her.

Chloé blinks, looking down at the seat, then back to Marinette. The light in her eyes is shimmering just before she abruptly turns away.

"I-it's not like anyone else is sitting there."

Marinette smiles, nestling into the seat. Miss Bustier looks at her with an unknown expression, then begins class.

Marinette looks over, noting that Chloé is hunched away from her, only using a small corner of the desk to work.

Softly, Marinette speaks up. "I like your new look. Did your mom design it for you?"

Chloé stops whatever she was working on, then turns her head partly without fully facing Marinette. "N-no. I designed it myself." After a pause, she lets out a tiny groan, a bit of comical exhaustion going into her voice. "Mom wouldn't let me come back until I did it all on my own."

Marinette giggled. "Well, it's good! You should be proud."

She hears Chloé breathe up. Chloé's head turns slightly more to her, and for a split second, Marinette can see Chloé blinking rapidly, as if she's trying to fight oncoming tears.

Happy tears.

Marinette opens her mouth to continue, but Chloé jerks her head back to her own work. Marinette frowns, a bit put off and now worried that she was too strong in her approach.

She opens her bag, fumbling through its contents before pulling out her phone. It’s glittering due to the gold casing.

"I kept your phone case," Marinette whispers, hoping to get one more reaction out of Chloé. "It's really nice."

Chloé shifts, but is still silent, merely staring at her work and not doing anything else.

Well, Marinette supposes that class is a bad time to see how Chloé's doing anyway. It was nice while it lasted, at least.

Marinette directs her gaze to the board, ready to focus on Miss Bustier's lesson, but is distracted by a light thumping sound to her right. Glancing over, she notes that Chloé has slammed a piece of paper onto the table and is scribbling on it vigorously. Marinette could swear that she could see steam rising from the tip of the pen.

After roughly a minute, Chloé stops. She clicks her pen and puts it away. She folds the paper in a haste.

Her hands shake. She sets the paper back down, then suddenly slides it over to Marinette's side of the desk.

Marinette's mouth drops open. She looks back at Chloé, but Chloé is still facing away from her. Tentatively, Marinette takes the paper in her hands and unfolds it.

Immediately, she smiles. There's writing all over the paper, but Chloé had crossed out most of it. What Marinette can make out is that the writing were variations of the only things Chloé didn't cross out.

“I'm sorry” and ”Thank you”

Marinette looks over, hoping that Chloé is watching her. Alas, Chloé's back is still turned to her, which is a shame, because Marinette wishes that Chloé could see the proud smile she had on.

Ladybug would be proud. Ladybug is proud.

Marinette slides closer, leaning forward to ensure that no one else would hear her; Chloé would certainly die of embarrassment otherwise.

Quietly, Marinette whispers, "You're welcome. I forgive you."

Just as Marinette slides back into her seat, the slightest blush forms on Chloé's face.

#((can i go to bed now))#MC's Character Revamps #MC: Chloé Bourgeois #category: long post #word count: over 6000 #MC's Writing #writing: story #writing: dialog #other: ask and answer

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the-e4b · 7 years ago

Photo

I have a very good inkling on who this anon might be. And if it’s true what I’m thinking then you just lowered yourself immensely in my regards of respect. I have only one watcher on DA that knows and criticized me on my statuses (because those are private to watchers) AND is a fan of Peet.

And no, there were no “allegations of tracing”. You saw the pictures yourself in an earlier post. They might not be 100% traced but you can’t deny that almost 90% of the picture was. Then there is also the fact that this artist was spreading rumors about me harassing others and I gave my watchers hard evidence that it was not me who was harassing anyone. Granted, I was no angel but I didn’t do anything wrong in the aspect of harassment. And I shared my comments together with that hard evidence so I left NOTHING out of that whole ordeal.

And that brings me to the next thing: We do not make empty accusations. We have proof for those. Screenshots and archived links, might I add. You know what those are? Those are links that come directly from the source and stay on the internet for as long as the internet exists.

Peet was throwing some things out of the window lately regarding some “lies and slander” we were throwing at it. Shall we begin?

Let’s start with the most important thing of all, the pedophilia accusations. No, it’s not because you have a relationship of a 47yo with a 24yo or because you feature a pedophile being institutionalized. It’s because you had a scene written in your original story (which you deftly removed after being pointed out) that had a 14 year old Scootaloo having wild sex with a fully grown, mentally unstable Rainbow Dash. https://archive.fo/pd2N9 (last point on Trivia if you scroll down) and like I said, the internet never forgets: https://fimfetch.net/story/170125/stockholm?html#14 HUGE NSFW WARNING!!! (If you scroll through starting from where the link leads you, you will come across a horizontal line that’s followed by a part entirely written in cursive, that’s the “juicy stuff”) Which also brings us to the fact that Peet was manipulating its audience to draw R34 art of a minor (at the time) because she disagreed with a ship on Tumblr. https://archive.is/tz299

Second accusation: The fact that Peet says that it never told anyone to kill themselves (this one’s not that hard to debunk, just go check its privatized twitter) https://archive.fo/Lm5aS . Also check Josh’s “response to Peet” video. In the description you’ll find tons of “Kill republicans” archives.

Third accusation: the sockpuppet accounts. Well, please, don’t let ME explain myself, let me show you someone who can, an admin of a site where Peet had several sockpuppet accounts and was banned for it.

https://derpibooru.org/434414#comment_1859030

Now the only accusation I’m not going to throw is Tara. Tara is allegedly a girlfriend that Peet made up and then was thrown into prison for owning child porn. I would love to proof that but unfortunately there is too less proof for this fact to hold. The only thing we know is that the avatar she used on several sites was a picture found on Google. And that there were a lot of suspicious things going on at that time to make us believe that Tara was a fake persona of Peet. (But like I said, no hard proof unfortunately).

Last thing before I pass the torch to my fellow mods: See Peet, we make only accusations that have legit proof and when WE are accused of something we don’t do damage control or pretend it never happened (a.i. delete our posts or block the people who criticize us). When we are accused of sth we will own up to it if it’s true or debunk it with hard facts. Not write endless paragraphs turning around the same point but never adressing the actual point.

The one throwing a temper tantrum when contradicted and throwing their toys out of the pram is not us, deary. It’s you.

- SM

What we have here as my co-mod eloquently stated is a response to an ask from an anonymous watcher who had been quite the bother to us in the past who watched our Space Mare… or it could be a former subject on the blog who googled her up to find some juicy dirt. I wanted to talk about my thoughts on a certain comment in the response talking about our ‘recent’ post… I think we’ve had more asks since that one you singled ouyt

As DP said in a previous ask, if Peet were to change and stop breaking people down, we would back off right here

I said something similar when we received an ask corresponding to the last post over here suggesting I wouldn’t remove the screencaps and archives, keeping them as a reminder of not becoming your on-air persona. Peets felt it would be better if “I would pretend nothing happened and keep up the posts…”

I’m confused here, what do you mean ‘nothing happened’? This blog is merely a catalogue of some of the worst individuals in the fan base and you are on the way to being the worst, you’re tied with a man who hid his niece’s Twilight Sparkle toy because he believed Alicorn Twilight Sparkle would make women regress back to the 50’s way of social norms.

We want people to learn from these footnotes of how to better themselves and try not to let history repeat itself because the future belongs to the next generation and they shouldn’t follow down the same path as we have to emotional oblivion.

-JoJo

Figured I’d add my two cents as well (and keeping myself calm by not flying into the usual swearing rage to chill-hop).

It’s amusing that Jerry once again pulls the political card on the blog and says we’re right-leaning.

Oh sure, coming from the person who’s so infamously left that even 4chan would cringe at, example?

Or use a tragedy like a shooting as his soapbox and rage to the echo chamber he calls his tumblr:

Clearly Jerry knows how America works as a country. It’s called research Jerry, sweetie. Learn it!

As we’ve made clear on this blog, we’re not at all interested in politics, regardless of what the ever screechy DisneyMaster once accused us of. I can’t speak for my friends on their political view but I’ve stated I stopped caring for political topics due to how abrasive people turn over them. And while the blog has made a few political posts, it’s rare and it’s always in a neutral stance.

Meanwile Jerry over there goes so political left that it’s not even funny, such as:

Stating the Republican Party only panders to “neo-nazis”,”the KKK”, and the “big stupid masses”.

Screeching that Donald Trump should be killed.

Saying Pence should also be killed.

STILL thinking the Electoral Collage doesn’t work because “WAH HILARY SHOULD HAVE WON!”

Blaming the Orlando shooting on Republicans because “THEY AGAINST LGBT!!!”.

And of course the one that struck a nerve:

“If you don’t enforce politics in your reviews, you are a terrible critic”

If that’s the fucking case, then the late Roger Ebert and Gene Siskel sucked at making movie reviews.

In all honesty, that post might as well be Jerry again throwing a fit because there are people out there who don’t like his actions and will critique him for it.

It’s lovely to see the sodium each time Jerry focuses his time yelling at his detractors than his content.

…Then again, that’d be considered a saving grace considering his content is as bad as his rage inducing posts on tumblr.

But the archived postd don’t lie. But we’re still gonna get a fucking “KNOB” post. I can feel it.

- deafpony

#space mare post #lily peet #jerry peet #jojo mod post #collaboration post #deaf pony post

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plutonian-honey · 8 years ago

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Do You Wanna Fight?

Aries Mars:

An Aries mars is very explosive and the smallest thing will set them on a rampage, destroying everything in their path. They can be very blunt and tell it how it is, regardless of if they hurt others’ feelings. After all, they need to know the truth! They are absolutely savage and rip apart anyone that decides to cross them. This often means bridges get burnt quickly and in a rapid bush fire of anger. Unfortunately for an Aries mars, they move on much faster than everyone else. So they may try to talk to someone hours after an argument to find that person has blocked them and wants nothing to do with them.

Taurus Mars:

A Taurus Mars is very hard to anger and they take a lot of pushing to finally react but when they do, it’s time to give up. It becomes like talking to a brick wall. They refuse to listen to anyone and will only do what they want which is frustrating to people around them. Their pride and stubbornness shines and blocks their ability to even consider doing anything but saying no, to everything. Their need to control themselves becomes very apparent in situations where they are distressed or under pressure.

Gemini Mars:

A Gemini Mars often shows anger through acting superior or disinterested rather than aggressive. They seem to believe they are better than those who are more argumentative. Their ability to outwit any opponent often means they win fights, but only because they become unresponsive and sarcastic rather than actually having conversations. They move on very quickly but in the back of their mind, they love to think they are now more intelligent because they won a fight and will use that to their advantage.

Cancer Mars:

A Cancer Mars is literally the most dramatic person you will ever meet. They are savage and go straight in for the sore point but as soon as you even slightly retaliate, they cry and act as though they have been horribly betrayed by their oldest friend and now they must live in anguish. They get defensive before they have even been accused which actually starts most of the arguments they are involved in. They seem to make every disagreement become a personal attack by everyone else onto them.

Leo Mars:

A Leo mars has this need to be the most important person in the room and when they’re not, they throw almighty tantrums. If someone does not pay enough attention to them, they become self-conscious and moody, especially towards that person. They won’t tell you why, though. You’re just left to wonder what you did to deserve the silent treatment. They work hard for attention and when it is not received, they are personally hurt. Also very stubborn, they have a really hard time letting things go.

Virgo Mars:

A Virgo mars generally isn’t aggressive but they rip you apart with their criticism that quite often becomes personal and nasty. Their anger is usually shown through complaining and cynicism. They are very prone to “just doing it themselves” rather than having to explain things to other people because they believe they are the only ones that can do anything the right way. Often, they will shut people down before they get a chance and are able to make people feel as though they are inferior which means they are avoided when anything doesn’t go to plan as those around them know they’ll be on a rampage.

Libra Mars:

A Libra mars wants drama, no matter where or who it’s coming from or involving. They are always the instigator when issues arise and love to light the fire and then run away to watch from afar. Then, when it’s all said and done, they decide to come out and mend the situation to make themselves look like heroes. Very passive aggressive to anyone that crosses them but rarely take action, instead they will talk behind peoples’ backs and spread rumors which solves nothing and in fact, makes things worse.

Scorpio Mars:

A Scorpio Mars has an almost concerning amount of self-restraint which is even scarier than an explosive Mars sign as you can never tell what they’re thinking. They know how to not only cut deep, but leave scars for years on end. They have a very black and white outlook on life - it’s this or that. Pessimism is common and often alienates them from more happy-go-lucky people. They’re not bothered though, because anyone that sees the world in rose coloured glasses is an idiot, right? They’re able to destroy your self-worth without blinking an eye which means a lot of people tread on egg shells around them.

Sagittarius Mars:

A Sagittarius Mars often starts fights that they can’t finish. They rarely look at the facts properly before diving in with their opinion and then get offended if you don’t agree. They are violent when they are irritated and literally will throw a chair at someone if they’re not doing what they want. They get bored super easily and will (literally) run away if things aren’t fast-paced enough to keep them interested. If you want someone you know will always be on your side, don’t ask them, their opinions and moods can change in a flash.

Capricorn Mars:

A Capricorn Mars believes they can do absolutely no wrong. They are big on betrayal and backstabbing, making it unfortunate for you if you cross them because you won’t hear about it from them, you’ll hear about it when there are rumors circling about you and you’re getting the silent treatment from 4 of your friends. They seem very unenthusiastic and placid but they are very convincing when they set their mind on something. They are very calm when angry which makes it more uncomfortable for everyone because they become distant and quiet when you have upset them and it is very hard to come back from that.

Aquarius Mars:

An Aquarius Mars is unbelievably clever but they often are bit by the “know-it-all” bug which makes them hard to converse with as they really don’t believe anyone can be on their level. They will fight back if they are forced to follow rules or requests they don’t agree with. They have a tendency to develop a god-complex and believe they are smarter, wittier and better than those around them. They become detached and disinterested when angry as if people are not worth their time which often leads people to dislike their blunt, entitled nature.

Pisces Mars:

A Pisces Mars is endlessly fascinated by everything around them. They rarely get involved in any sort of disagreement or fight as they’re very chill and prefer the onlooker role instead. They are passionate about their opinions and beliefs and often take on a martyr role, even when there is no one going against them. It is as though they want to be defeated, so later they can prove themselves which can get on the nerves of people when they play the victim just to be redeemed.

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anthonybialy · 5 years ago

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Utopia Nope

The next rich-soaking will make this mean liberty-based nation as serenely prosperous as East Berlin. Alternately, those who note we not only have a Constitution but that we should obey it picture villages planned out by Ayn Rand. Sidewalks go wherever there's rational selfish interest to stroll.

The respective utopias envisioned by each side may not quite be obtainable. But one dream is closer to achievable, even if it's unlikely on account of having to work and pay bills. The catch is not acknowledged by the buy none get one free side.

One economic philosophy is so cruel that it involves buying what you use. Unlimited complimentary items are just a wise Congress away. Economic nerds call to make debt disappear with a Thanos snap. They think like children, only more demanding while throwing tantrums.

You claim you know how the economy works yet aren't bright enough to proclaim goods should be free. Buying things is dumb when you can not buy them. Legalized shoplifting increases profits: all the money saved goes straight back into purchases! You surely can't spot a catch.

The present tax rate is too high and will remain so after it's cut like me at childhood sports. Which rate? Yes. Liberals claim every solution by their counterparts involves paying less to the government. Damn straight it does. Washington should have to sell what they've plundered on Craigslist to pay the ridiculous bills they've racked up. Your confiscatory overlords have already taken enough to fund an empire, which they used to create debt.

You've got some nerve letting earners keep more. Critics who assure us mass death will follow the slightest cut forget to note prosperity will follow, as the side uninterested in consequences forgets they're dealing with humans.

The downside isn't that down, as quality will spike once that annoying Washington middleman is put out of business. You will have to acquire your own things. Yes, that may mean getting a job unless you're a congressman who moans about how nobody else can get rich.

Who will fund pretty things except those who like looking at them? Cultural activities might not be propped up by the state anymore. But you can decide which paintings you want to see. Admission counts as voting. You'd never think to fund galleries, which is why we need massive taxes to pay for artistic messages. Now, that's what the First Amendment is about.

You'd think liberals would adore state governments, as they allow for another layer of hassling closer to home. But several of the ruling apparatuses stubbornly refuse to confiscate any dollars hoarded by greedy individuals who managed to evade an otherwise wholly efficient federal administration. States are competing against each other if you want to know why federalism is as loathsome to Democrats as you choosing which school your children attend.

Note who loathes anything featuring options. Illinois wishes they could tax a project to cloak North Dakota. Cook County would screw up the calculations. Audacious businesses shifting area codes are the bane of progressive paradises. Can't we have laws against relocation for revenue's sake? Until then, building a wall at New York's border high enough to prohibit escaping to Florida is the only way to achieve prosperity.

Paying less to Washington means paying more to employees. You're not greedy enough to withhold raises, are you? The factory owner the next town over will keep you honest as he competes for the same workers.

Anyone with money is free by our understanding of law to buy stuff, which I've been told enhances the economy. The ability to fund what we choose surprises those who think there's a magical multiplying factor when government hands out what it's taken.

The most enlightened members of our species call others selfish for wanting to keep what they received in return for work. It's not like there are practical benefits of not taking what someone else earned. You dare dream of buying stocks in companies that bring us products and employ people. If everyone gets something out of it, who's being exploited?

Defiance of arithmetic hasn't worked yet, but only because we haven't expressed enough faith. Trust that Elizabeth Warren has a clue, and her delicate planning will become reality. At least, that's what self-identified prophets proclaim. Believers haven't managed to notice how politicians with no profit motive other than buying votes reduces investments like Comedy Central inhibits laughter.

Taxpayers may have noticed those who are supposed to be in charge of cops and paving roads have taken it upon themselves to manage your calendar. If that sounds like Heaven, I'll take Satan and his superior rock music.

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theunfilteredgemini-blog · 5 years ago

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Most Annoying Types of Classmates

In school, you’re going to run into a lot of unpleasant, irksome things, most of which will be the people you have to interact with. In this case, I’m talking specifically about your fellow classmates. No matter what grade you’re in or what type of school you attend, there are certain types of classmates that everyone hates.

1. The one that refuses to help with anything

When I say anything, I do mean literally anything. This is the person who gives you a look and says, “Well, you should have been listening more carefully” in the most condescending, arrogant tone ever if you happen to misunderstand a few instructions. If you ask them for help on a math problem, they tell you to look at the textbook (never mind the fact that you just spent the last 20 minutes doing exactly that) or just flat-out ignore you.

As a matter of fact, I had a classmate exactly like this in fourth grade. I’m not sure what changed over the years, but by the time high school came around, he was the one who needed clarification on everything because he “wasn’t listening”. I never took the opportunity to exact a little petty revenge, however, mostly because I rarely spoke to him and was never seated anywhere near him in class anyway.

2. The one who looks over your shoulder at your score when the teacher passes back your tests (or anything else, for that matter)

Excuse me? It’s none of your business what I got on my science quiz. Besides, if you really wanted to know so badly, you could have just asked. I mean, not that I’m likely to tell you, but at least show a little bit of common courtesy. Grades are meant to be confidential unless the person who earned them decides otherwise, you know.

What makes this person even more annoying is that you just know they’re only looking over your shoulder to confirm that you earned a lower score than they did. Well, they wouldn’t be looking over your shoulder in the hopes that you did better than them, would they? But on that note, it is satisfying seeing them silently turn away and start brooding if you earned a higher score. Getting your ego crushed is kind of what you deserve for being a nosy little prick.

3. The one that complains (or pretends to complain) about high grades as a means of bragging to someone who earned a lower mark

To be clear, I don’t mind people who are genuinely disappointed even if they earned a good mark. There is such a thing as having personal standards, and I’ve been that person on a few occasions. People who are upset about a B+ are absolutely valid if they know they’re capable of and were aiming for an A.

What I don’t appreciate are the people who do this:

“Hey Vivi, what did you get on the test?”

“Oh, I got a C+. Thank God, haha. I thought I was going to fail for sure.”

“Ha, I’ll bet that’s a relief. I’m actually kind of annoyed, though. I mean, I got an A- which I know is a good grade, but still! Just one mark shy of an A. Seriously.”

Then, of course, when someone actually earned a better grade than them, the conversations go more like this:

“Hey Ashley, what did you get on the test?”

“Me? Oh, I got a 98. Why?”

*glances down at their paper with 94 written at the top*

“No reason! Just wanted to know.”

*immediately skulks off to brood over their unfortunate life decisions*

4. The one that disrupts the lesson by asking stupid questions

Look, we all love an inquisitive mind. However, when you constantly interrupt the lesson to ask questions such as, “Would it be a bad idea to stand next to a volcano as it’s erupting?” then you have some problems. There’s a difference between being curious and just being an idiot. As for the volcano question, I think that’s something you need personal experience with to be able to answer.

5. In group projects, the one who never puts any effort forward yet has the nerve to get mad at you when you make a mistake

Look, no offense or anything, but you don’t really have a right to get upset at someone who’s actually putting in effort when you’re trying to rely on someone else’s hard work to get you a good grade. If you were so concerned with perfection, you should have volunteered to do some of the work yourself.

I had a classmate like this in high school. In freshman year, we were assigned a group project and this guy would sit on his iPad or computer and play games all period long but would criticize me and the one other person who actually did the work whenever we messed up on a concept or chapter. I found out a few years later that he suffered from a series of mental health issues, which made me a little more understanding of his attitude. Back then, however, I took great pleasure in giving him a 0 on the peer review sheet.

6. The one who says before every test that they didn’t study and are going to fail

Sweetheart, just shut up. We all know you studied; we’ve seen you get 95 percent or above on every single test this year. What’s the point of lying anyway? To try to lower everyone’s expectations of you? Well, it’s not going to work because as I said, you do this song and dance every time there’s a test and the result is always the same.

Then there’s the other end of the spectrum, where someone actually didn’t study and probably will fail the test. In that case, yes, you are going to get an F and yes, it is your fault, and no, there’s no one else here who cares except you. Please stop talking about how you’re going to fail because you didn’t study. There’s no need to state the obvious.

7. The one that cries to a teacher as a means of getting their grade raised

If you’re crying over a grade, fine. Everyone has different emotional responses to everything. Hell, I once saw a girl in bloody seventh grade spend half a class period crying over missing the due date for a homework assignment. At the beginning of the year.

What isn’t okay is when you start crying in front of your teacher and beg them to change your grade. For one, it’s extremely manipulative, as most teachers are likely to feel at least some sympathy for crying students (there are some exceptions, of course, but we’ll get to that another time). When you start crying and use the “I worked so hard” line, you’re just emotionally manipulating your teacher into raising your grade. Big deal. Everyone works hard–or at least everyone is supposed to work hard. You don’t get extra points for doing what you’re bloody supposed to do. For another, it’s unfair to the others in your class who put in more effort than you, earned lower grades than you, but are mature enough not to throw a temper tantrum/pity party to a professor in the hopes of getting their grade raised.

8. The one that acts as if they’re a genius just because they have good grades

Dude, just chill out. Yes, you’re probably at least somewhat intelligent, but you’re not a genius just because you have an A in chemistry. If earning good grades made you a genius, then that means there are at least 500 Albert Einsteins running around the school. There’s a lot more to being a genius than earning good marks, so maybe step off your high horse there.

Funny story, my mom is exactly like this. Back when I was younger, she used to tell me, “If you need help on anything, come to me instead of your dad. I was a straight-A student in high school; I know how to help you.” I tried that a few times and it got me absolutely nowhere because she was terrible at explaining things. But that’s another story.

#school #types of classmates #rant

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