i was witty even then

Honestly I’m tired of everyone underappreciating and underestimating Charlie

Riverdale Imagine: Mixed Messages  (Jughead x reader)

Anonymous asked: Heyyy, I saw that your requests are open and was wondering if you could do one with jughead and the reader when they date.where the reader and Betty get along and everything but the reader can’t help but get jealous of what they had and how close they still are at times?

Summary: The reader spends a painful summer watching Jughead and Betty in a relationship. She has liked Jughead for years and can’t bear to be around the two of them. The reader arrives back to school in September, after spending a few weeks with her Dad in Toronto, to discover that Jughead broke it off with Betty. Although Jughead and the reader begin a relationship, Betty appears to find it hard to accept Jughead’s new feelings.

Approx. 2200 words

The friendship wasn’t the problem, that had always been there. Jughead and Betty had been best friends from the moment they had been born. They had had their first day at school together – I had seen the photograph of the two of them aged five, hand in hand as Betty confidently dragged a terrified Jughead through the school gates – partnered together in every class since that day, and even shared their first kiss in the third grade. Before I had even moved to Riverdale, Jughead and Betty were inseparable. I’d moved to Riverdale from Toronto when I was ten and from the moment I joined Riverdale Middle School, I was smitten with Jughead Jones. I was never very subtle – I remember leaving a ridiculously cheesy Valentine’s card in his locker one year, failing miserably to disguise my handwriting so within five minutes everyone had guessed it was me – but Jughead never made me feel embarrassed. I joined Betty and Jughead’s little group immediately, Jughead was fascinated by my stories of life in a big city and Betty was delighted to finally have a girl-friend as there was only so much boy-talk that Jughead would take willingly. By the eighth grade Archie Andrews and Kevin Keller had joined our little clique, and now that we were in the eleventh grade, Veronica Lodge – who had recently moved from New York – had befriended us also.

Veronica was where the problem began. Within days she had noticed how close Jughead and Betty were and immediately latched on to the idea of them as a couple, planting little seeds of romance in both their heads until, at a party over the summer, they finally kissed. As I had been silently crushing on Jughead for the last six years, I had become a master of hiding my feelings. Nevertheless, I spent the rest of the summer uncomfortably third-wheeling at Pop’s as Jughead and Betty shared milkshakes and giggled as they stole each other’s fries, play-fighting and calling each other names. Ironically, I was incredibly thankful when my Mum put me on a plane back to Toronto for the last few weeks of the holiday, insisting that I had to spend time with Dad and his latest girlfriend before I went back to school.

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anonymous asked:

Unclefather/Sierra is just a cunt who let some piece of shit knock her up when she can't pay her own fucking rent or buy food. She is what's wrong with the world.

listen i do not agree with this , she is beautiful and hilarious and deserves happiness just like the rest of us, i didnt expect that dumbass post i made to blow up like it did, i dont even have anything witty to say back honestly, i think the only person whos resembling characteristics of being a piece of shit in this situation is you /: get the hate out of your heart

7

“There was a literary lunch to which I was invited and at which I couldn’t think of anything to say - I was scared stiff, that’s why I didn’t [say much].”

[John, Anthology]


“As we were ushered through the lobby of the Dorchester, hordes of press and TV crews following us, I knew John wanted to turn and run, but we had to keep smiling. We couldn’t even see what was going on properly because neither of us was wearing our glasses.

“When we walked into the enormous dining room hundreds of people stood up and applauded. We fumbled our way to our places and found we were at opposite ends of the top table, denied even the reassurance of squeezing hands. I was sitting between the Earl of Arran and pop singer Marty Wilde, who was almost as nervous as I was. I was terrified, until the earl put me at ease with a string of witty stories and friendly chat. I even began to enjoy myself - until we reached the last course and dozens of TV and press cameras were pointed in our direction. “What’s going on?” I whispered to the earl.

“I believe your husband is about to give a speech,” he whispered back, and politely averted his eyes from the horror written on my face. I looked at John and my heart went out to him. He was ashen and totally unprepared. Never lost for words in private, a public speech was beyond him - let alone to a crowd of literary top dogs, and especially with a hangover.

“As John was introduced silence fell. The weight of expectation was enormous. John, more terrified than I’d ever seen him, got to his feet. He managed eight words, “Thank you very much, it’s been a pleasure,” then promptly sat down again. There was a stunned silence, followed by a few muted boos and a smattering of applause. The audience was disappointed, annoyed and indignant. Both John and I wished we were on another planet. John tried to make up for it by signing endless copies of the book afterward.”

[Cynthia, John]


John, Cynthia and Brian at a Foyle’s literary luncheon, hosted at the Dorchester Hotel, London on 23rd April 1964, for the recent publication of In His Own Write. Although it was held in his honour, John didn’t realise he would be expected to make a speech. Poor John.

Casino Night - Tyler Seguin (Part 2)

A/N: I’m really enjoying writing this, so I hope you enjoy reading just as much. Again, English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

Word Count: 1319

Warnings: None, I think.

Part 1

Originally posted by tylerseguin-stars

I walk around, not quite sure if I need air, a shot of tequila, sleep for a year or someone to slap me. I feel stupid, to be honest, like I was a freshman who is starstruck by the senior quarterback. Tyler has got under my skin way too easily and I don’t like it. I’ve always been hard to impress, way too sassy, it’s difficult to keep my attention… and now I can only think about this guy I met less than two hours ago and that I know nothing about.

After walking around without direction I decide that it is time to find (Y/F/N) and getting the hell out of here before I start banging my head against the walls out of embarrassment. She is where she said she was gonna be, playing roulette and being the life of the party.

“C’mon, Miss Luck! Take some risks!” The guy I assume it’s Jamie Benn is yelling at my friend when I get to the table. God, I literally know nothing about the Dallas Stars and I make a mental note to investigate about them tomorrow.

“Having fun?” I ask her from behind, scaring her.

“Omg, (Y/N)! Don’t do that! I could have die” She scolds me and I laugh, kissing her cheek.

“I think you will live another day” I say, looking at the table “So, what’s your bet?”

“I kind of want to go for a number, but there is no way I’m getting it, right?” She whispers

“Just do it!” I cheer her and she pulls out her best smile before grabbing a couple $100 chips and putting them on the number 14.

Jamie looks at her closely and smirks “Good choice”

The little ball starts spinning around the roulette and I hold my breath, actually anxious about my friend losing $200 on a game. It seems like it is taking forever for the ball to stop and I can’t help but to shut my eyes before it does. I hear my friend laugh and I open my eyes to see the ball on the number 30, right next to the number 14.

“It wasn’t meant to be” she says and I put my arm around her shoulders.

“You still look bomb” I try to comfort her

“Cheers to that” Jamie says from across the table and my friend blushes until she looks more like a tomato than a human being.

“Shall we go?” She looks at me with puppy eyes and I realize that she is trying to not think about all the money she has lost.

I nod and we wave goodbye at Jamie as we walk to the elevators, ready to take a cab and leave the casino. We donate all our chips on our way out and the lady gives us an envelope.

“They are tickets for the next home game” she explains and we just take them and walk out.

The drive is quiet and my head can’t stop thinking about Tyler. I try to make a mental list of all I know about him; he is a hockey player, he plays for the Dallas Stars, he was drafted five or six years ago, he used to play for the Bruins…and that’s it. I know nothing more of this guy. I have never been too interested on the players’ personal lives, not even the Red Wings players, so I don’t know where he is from, his family, etc… Maybe it is for the best.

The ride feels shorter that it really is and before I know it I am home. I take my heels off before climbing the stairs to my apartment. My feet ache and I’m quite sure I have blisters all over my toes… ugh, gross.

My apartment is small but cozy. It has a decent size bedroom, a bathroom, a small kitchen, a living room and my favorite part, a nice terrace where I have a small table and tons of plants. The color scheme is simple, light blue, light grey and white. Everything is perfectly coordinated and my red dress doesn’t go well with it, so I walk to my room and change to a pair of leggings and a white sweater, feeling more like myself as soon as I do. Don’t get me wrong, I’m comfortable with my body, but the dress was just too much for me…I’m more of a pair of jeans and a nice top kind of girl. I walk back to the living room and sit on the couch, pulling my white faux blanket over my body as I grab my laptop from the coffee table in front of me.

“You are gonna regret this, dum-dum” as I get in the browser and type Tyler Seguin on it.

There are thousands of websites talking about Tyler Seguin and I spend what it feels like hours reading articles about him. Apparently, he is a good player but he is also known for his love for partying. I keep reading, learning about his trade from Boston to Dallas due for his attitude outside the ice and how it seems like he has calmed down and matured since his arrival to Dallas. I smile watching a video about his charity Seguin Stars, which is incredibly kind of him. I might have watched the video of his ESPN body issue too, but I will deny it if you ask me.

I yawn and I realize that it is pasted 2am and I probably should head to bed sooner rather than later but, as much as I love hockey, I didn’t start looking into him because I wanted to know his stats so I push myself and I type girlfriend next to his name and hit enter. I spend ten minutes scrolling through websites until I shut my laptop and frown, feeling like the biggest fool on Earth.

{Tyler’s POV}

“Tyler, I would’ve bought you that drink”

That sentence is playing on repeat in my head. I can’t believe that I didn’t come back with something witty to say. Man, I can’t believe I didn’t even get her number or instagram. God, I can’t believe I didn’t even ask her what her name is.

I hit the wheel of my Ferrari with the heel of my hand out of frustration and I speed, needing some sort of distraction from her. She knew who I was, but she wasn’t impressed and that was refreshing. I’m too used to girls throwing themselves at me and I just have to choose my favorite and the rest is done, but this mysterious girl wasn’t having it. A challenge, I haven’t had one of those for a while.

I get to my new house and park the car inside the garage before walking in through the door that leads to the kitchen, where pair of happy labs greet me.

“Hello boys” I coo to my sons “have you been good?” as I push Cash away before he ruins my Tom Ford suit.

They follow me to the kitchen, where I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and get a couple treats for them as an I’m-sorry-I haven’t-been-home gift. I walk upstairs to my room, knowing that the dogs will follow me as soon as they are done eating and walk into my closet, taking my suit off and hanging it next to a couple of pieces of clothing that I need to take to the dry cleaner. I walk to my bed and get under the covers when I hear the boys racing upstairs and hooping on the bed, getting comfortable next to me.

“You two are sooooo spoiled” I whisper to them and they just look at me like they own the place. They probably do.

I turn to my side, this girl still stuck in my head as I drift to sleep.

trump apologists:

me, remembering the morals and values that define me as a person:

Jumped: Part 2

Part 1


After a day of marathon shopping with Oliver, I was ready for a quiet evening at home. I reheated some pasta and curled up on the couch with a book (that I totally intended to read but probably wouldn’t), a glass of wine and my phone. My fingers were itching to pull up the picture from earlier. I wanted to play it cool and pretend like I hadn’t been affected by my celebrity encounter, but I was. And it wasn’t that he was famous (I was pretty sure). It was him, it was this guy who had this presence that I couldn’t describe. The banter on the phone, the blueness of his eyes, the rush of my heart when his fingers brushed mine, these were the things that stuck with me, that had been circling my brain all day.

With a sigh, I gave up my pretense and opened the photo app on my phone. There it was, the selfie. He was right. I did look terrified. My eyes were wide, my lips pale and in a tight line as I stared into the camera. Wow. Thank god he had sent himself the Minnie Mouse picture and not this one. He looked much better in the pic, unsmiling and maybe a little tired but he was a naturally photogenic guy and his blue eyes and the dark stubble on his chin framed a really handsome face.

I switched over to the text message he had sent himself, the infamous Minnie Mouse picture. It was taken four months ago on Halloween at my friend Margot’s annual party. The theme had been Disney but it was not a family friendly party. My mini skirt and fishnet stockings were modest compared to some of the other costumes. There were more slutty princesses than you could count. Oliver had dressed as the priest from The Little Mermaid, complete with a tented shift.

Niall’s number stared at me from the small screen of the phone. I knew I would never call it, one humiliation (okay at least three humiliations) in front of this guy were enough to last a lifetime. But I couldn’t bring myself to delete it. If he were smart, he’d be changing it soon anyway after giving it away to a total stranger. Finally, I gave into my baser instincts and opened his contact. I printed his name (which I had to google for the spelling…and then maybe looked through the images a little) and then added his cropped out face from our selfie. I stared at the face and name, replaying our interactions and wishing with everything I had that I didn’t want to talk to him again.

I was startled out of my daydream by a text alert. Pinching myself to make sure I hadn’t actually fallen asleep and that this wasn’t a dream, I read his name. Text message from Niall Horan. Exiting out of the contact, I pulled open his message and immediately started to giggle.

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