in the words of mean girls

Not Northside Material - Part 1

A/N: It’s me, back from the dead and this time… sweeter. Anyway, here have this. The next few parts are already written, I just have to edit them and I’ll post them depending on the reaction to this one because its been a while and I’m rusty, ya kno? so pls let me know what you think.

Summary: There’s a new girl at Southside High and that means new entertainment for the Serpents. 

Word Count: 2,625

Warnings: Swear words, Serpents, and that’s all so far

Southside High was much like any other high school in the respect that its attendees were all separated into their own little groups; cliques of people huddled together in hallways. If you’d been there long enough you could walk into a classroom and draw lines around the groups like warring sides of a battle crammed into a confined space and forced to sit amicably. Though, that was, for the most part, exactly the case. 

No one stayed a loner for long. It’s not that every new kid didn’t try to avoid these ‘friendly’ factions like the plague, some lasted a week, some a day, some even less. Eventually, the temptation of not having your skull stomped into shards by an angry gang member with nothing better to do overcomes, and the appeal of group protection becomes necessity rather than a social nicety. 

Of course there were the big groups, the gangs that pushed too many tables together so they could crowd around in intimidating solidarity over the rest of the students. The Serpents and the Ghoulies were the worst, and it was fair to say, neither were big on recruitment. It wasn’t as though sign-up sheets decorated the halls with cartoon snakes and emoji ghosts, they were tight- knit gangs of violence and drugs and an over abundant supply of leather jackets to go around. 

If you somehow managed to catch the attention of a Ghoulie and had a penchant for drug pushing, old cars, outdated gothic design and possibly cannibalism, and you weren’t petrified to approach the group. Then maybe, just maybe, they might consider offering you the option of proving yourself. Even once you’d proved yourself, you’d have to survive initiation.

The Ghoulies were the easier group to infiltrate of the two. The Serpents ranks were nearly impenetrable without blood ties, you could attempt to prove your loyalty from the outside but it was a dangerous manoeuvre to be seen as desperate; kissing up to get into the inner circle. The fact of the matter was, in order to enter the pit of snakes, you had to be someone related or someone undoubtedly special, or else you weren’t a Serpent. 

This system, however terrifying, did mean that every new kid who walked through the doors of Southside High, immediately become the week’s entertainment. So when she arrived, the school stopped immediately, all eyes diverting to the fresh meat getting caught in the metal detector and she wasn’t hard to spot. 

“Are all of the Northsider’s defecting now?” Fangs snarled under his breath, his gaze cast over his shoulder to watch the new girl try to find her locker in a hallway of leering eye all trained on her. 

“It’s an infection or something,” Toni laughed bitterly, pulling her jacket from her otherwise nearly barren locker. “Like herpes.” 

Fangs snorted a laugh in response, Sweet Pea only sneered in agreement as he turned, leaning against his locker to watch the new attraction. “Finally found her locker,” he paused as a smirk came over his features, his friends following suit, “right in between two Ghoulies as well.” 

“Tough draw.” Jughead only murmured quietly, his excited vigour absent among his friends. He recognised her distantly, he’d spoken to her for the ‘Blue and Gold’, he shared a class or two with her, and now she was here. 

“Another prep of yours, Jug?” Sweet Pea chuckles, his insults had taken on a less hostile tone now, but they still came none the less in that signature mocking smirk. 

“Not exclusively,” he shrugged, eyes lingering on the familiar girl in the blue jeans and grey sweater, simple and yet wildly out of place in a sea of black and leather, “she did go to Riverdale though… I wonder what happened.” 

“She’s cute,” Sweet Pea scoffed, an offhand compliment that no one expected to stand alone, “I give her a day and a half before she’s hanging with the heads.” He chuckled, finally diverting his attention to a group gathered at the end of the hall, each clutching their striped straws of illicit activity. It was all they did.  

“Who cares?” Fangs hollered, “Fresh meat!” His voice rang out through a hall filled otherwise with mutters, what followed was definitely unexpected. 

A loud slam rang out almost immediately after the words left his lips, and all eyes that had managed to divert, clicked back to her instantly. Her fist was balled against the slammed locker, her eyes smouldering in Fangs’ direction, no hint of fear or embarrassment, just anger that was barely leashed. Everyone stared on in a shocked disbelief at the Northsider with the fire in her eyes, waiting for words to come. None did. After a long moment, she closed her eyes, took a long breath, and turned her back, walking away in what she assumed was the direction of her first class. 

“What the fuck!?” Fangs hissed, directly at Jughead who stood in tight lipped silence, trying not to laugh or say something he shouldn’t. 

“She’s, uh… just maybe leave her to the Ghoulies.” He said, hoping that would tempt them away from confrontation with her, he knew enough about her life to assume she was more than she looked. Even so, he was well aware that when it came down to it, he wouldn’t let the Ghoulies get to her either. 

“Yeah sure, Jones.” Fangs scoffed angrily, clearly prepared to disobey him, “I’ll just let the Northside bitch humiliate me.” And with that he stormed off, followed by Toni who was barely containing a laugh at her friend’s expense. 

“What’s her name?” Sweet Pea asked, nothing casual in his voice, something underlying that Jughead could barely place as curiosity. 

“It’s Y/N, to be honest, if anyone else was going to end up here it was going to be her.” Jughead admitted, no sarcasm or derision in his voice, just honesty. Sweet Pea raised an eyebrow to the new Serpent. 

“Oh yeah, why’s that?” There was a dangerous edge to the question that dared Jughead to say something negative, to put down the Southside somehow.  

“I mean this in the best way possible, but she’s not exactly Northside material.” He shut his locker with a soft laugh, remembering all of the few memories he had of her. 

“In what way?” Sweet Pea presses on, his interest only increasing as he followed Jughead to class, a class they didn’t share. 

“Why do you care?” Jughead did nothing suppress the frown that was fighting its way onto his face. 

“She’s new, I wanna know if the next weeks going to be interesting or if I should go to my own classes?” He shrugged nonchalantly but his eyes flicked rapidly around the hall gave him away. He was seeking her out, and that put Jughead on edge, Sweet Pea noticed, he only smirked. 

“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of entertainment.” He said in an almost begrudging manner, patting Sweet Pea‘s shoulder and watching the taller boy refocus. 

“Anything I should know? Warning for what I’m up against?” The teasing tone was back, but Jughead’s eyes darkened immediately, seriousness seeping further into his expression. 

“Sweet Pea, I know you and I know what you’re capable of,” he paused, “but I’m telling you to leave this one alone.” 

“Or what?” He said mockingly, shoving past Jughead to peer into the classroom Jug was headed towards, that damned smirk never leaving Sweet Pea’s face, as he gestured into the classroom, towards the unfamiliar girl, sitting in the back row, head down as the students around her didn’t even try to hide their staring. “She’ll hurt me?” He scoffed softly, not waiting for an answer, wandering through the door and joining Toni on the far side. She wasn’t fazed that he had wandered into a class he didn’t take, not with the new girl there. 

Jughead lingered a moment outside the door, Y/N raised her head slightly and immediately caught Jughead’s eyes, a soft smile came into her face, Jughead only smiled back, giving a half-hearted wave as Sweet Pea’s question played back in his mind.

She’ll hurt me?’ It was an innocent enough question, after all, Y/N wasn’t very intimidating to look at, but it meant nothing. The question was innocent, it was the answer that made Jughead’s heart heavy with a certain kind of worry. 

“She could.” He muttered, entirely to himself, “She might.” 


“She’s already lasted longer than I thought.” Toni smiled, her friends all gathered around their table as they watched on. 

“Well I’d say her times almost up,” Fangs scoffed quietly, Y/N had managed to keep to herself for three days now, which was admittedly longer than most, “the Ghoulies have been eyeing her since her little locker performance.” 

“You think they’ll try to get to her?” Toni asked, her eyes flicking back to the group of Ghoulies and their predatory stares all directed towards Y/N. “What do you think, Jug?”  

“Maybe.” He bit his lip, concern etched in his face. 

“Don’t you have a girlfriend, Jones?” Sweet Pea grunted, successfully drawing Jughead’s attention. 

“Yeah, Why?” He mumbled. 

“You’re staring at the new chick a lot for a dude with a girlfriend.” Sweet Pea shrugged, his own gaze drifting back to the aforementioned ‘new chick’, she didn’t look like anything special to him. She was quiet, plain, she looked too soft; she was a Northsider, even if she did jump ship to his school. 

“She’s just…” he trailed off then, sudden movement right on the corner of his vision drew him back, it was a Ghoulie. Jughead watched them head towards her and reacted without thinking, “just a friend.” He muttered as he stood and stride quickly away from his table. 

Y/N only looked up when a boy she didn’t recognise slammed his fist down on the opposite side of her table. She jumped slightly, locking eyes with someone unfamiliar, her stomach turning. It wasn’t unexpected, she’d figured that eventually someone would challenge her, because she was alone, unprotected, and mostly because she came from the Northside. 

Just as a sentence appeared in her head, she was cut off, Jughead pushed on the Ghoulies shoulder, watching him stumble for half a second before turning to the other boy with a growl that bordered on inhuman. “What’s your problem Serpent?” He spat, baring his teeth to Jughead in a half snarl, half sneer. 

“She’s spoken for.” There was a moment of tension then that made her want to get up and run, or maybe get up and start throwing punches, for the moment at least, she chose neither. 

“You sure?” The Ghoulie asked, puffing out his chest and getting so close to Jughead that they were chest to chest. Neither seemed ready to back down. “Cause it’s been three days and none of your Serpent scum have come to collect her.” 

“What do you think I’m doing over here now?” Jughead growled back, shoving the other boy’s chest and forcing him backwards. The look in their eyes was enough to tell that a fight was about three seconds from breaking out, and she wasn’t exactly keen on jumping into the firing line where she could avoid it. It wasn’t just them either, the moment Jughead made contact the Ghoulies arched up, the Serpent’s a second behind them as they prepared to run into a fight if one started. 

“Alright boys, calm down.” Y/N voice was calm and measured, loud enough that the whole cafeteria could hear, “If I’m not mistaken, it’s entirely my decision who speaks for me.”  

They looked at her then, and here ‘they’ means everyone in the immediate vicinity, though most intensely it was Jughead and the Ghoul who had either intended to harass or recruit her. They were waiting; waiting for her to pick an alliance that would define her loyalty from now on. Her eyes flicked to those of a boy she’d know vaguely since she was five years old, and then to the seat across from her, beckoning him to sit down with her. Jughead smirked, ramming his shoulder into the other boys unnecessarily as he sat down, the Ghoul only snarled at them, retreating back to his friends. 

“Wow, Jughead, you’ve really acclimatised to life on the Southside, haven’t you?” She laughed softly, watching the severe look on Jughead’s face fade into a smile.  

“Desperate times, I guess.” He sighed, his whole body relaxing as he spoke to her, she was maybe the only person he’d spoken to lately who wasn’t involved in any of the drama that had plagued his life recently. 

“Well, maybe it’s not responsible to say so but I think snake skin suits you, you look like a badass, Jones.” She chuckled, even though her voice was slightly teasing and he couldn’t keep the smile from his face; that was the single best reaction he’d gotten so far to being a Serpent. There was a comfortable pause between them in which they both just smiled dumbly at each other, until he sighed.

“You know I have to ask…” he trailed off and her expression faltered, recovering just as fast as it had gone, she shrugged, knowing exactly what it was that he wanted to ask about. 

“My parents kicked me out, and everyone was always saying I belong on the Southside anyway so here I am.” It was something she talked about so casually that Jughead might have miss d how serious it was if he wasn’t paying close attention. 

“They kicked you out? Shit, Y/N, why? And where the hell are you staying?” Jughead leaned further across the table towards her and she rolled her eyes at his concern. 

“I got in another fight with Chuck and they found out about the tattoos, and because that didn’t fit with their cute little family image they kicked me out and told everyone I ran away.” She mumbled bitterly, pushing her food around her plate. 

Meanwhile, across the lunch room, the Serpents were watching on with rapt interest. No one had expected Jughead to step in and to sit down across from her, to be talking to her the way he was, it automatically meant that anyone watching on expected her to be under Serpent protection. “What the fuck is he doing?” Fangs hissed to his friends, Toni only shrugged. 

“I don’t know but she doesn’t seems as bad as the other Northsiders he’s friends with.” Toni tried to defend, tilting her head towards the conversation. 

“You think he likes her?” Sweet Pea interjected randomly, his voice rising above and silencing his friends. 

“No way, he’s with Betty.” Toni raised an eyebrow at her friend, she could see it in Sweet Pea’s eyes, he was planning something, and something he probably shouldn’t be. 

“So? They seem pretty…. friendly for someone he claims he didn’t know that well.” The taller boy shrugged, a small smirk on his lips as he didn’t even try to tear his eyes away. He didn’t like Jughead, it wasn’t a secret, they were Serpents and so he had stopped tormenting him, but that didn’t mean he liked him. He was just contractually obligated to cope with him. What that did mean, was Sweet Pea was always out for an opportunity to fuck with him in the subtlest way possible whenever there was an opportunity and this was an opportunity for the ages. 

“What are you thinking, Sweets?” Fangs questioned, a devilish grin on his lips as he watched the gears turn in his best friend’s mind, eyes fixed on Jughead and the new girl.  

“I’m thinking we go and meet and our new friend.” He drew out the last word slowly as he stood, closely followed by Toni, Fangs, and a few other interest Serpents. 

tagging @southsidepea bc i promised i would 

y’all if you have Hulu, please please please do not sleep on Marvel’s Runaways, it’s literally so good and based on such an amazing comic and almost the entire main cast is POC, there’s a lesbian whose true form is literally a fucking rainbow, one girl has a fucking pet dinosaur, there’s a goth witch and it’s not your average superhero story!!! please please please watch this if you have the means, and if you can’t watch it on Hulu, please please tweet about it and talk about it and really get the word around about it!!! 

Next time someone tells me that Lyanna was on board with Rhaegar declaring for his father and leaving to war against Ned, I’m just gonna show them this.

“I was with her when she died,” Ned reminded the king. “She wanted to come home, to rest beside Brandon and Father.”

Are you honestly trying to tell me that the girl who extracted a promise from her brother to take her home and bury her beside the father and brother she lost willingly accepted Rhaegar fighting in the name of the guy who killed them with no qualms about him potentially killing another of her brothers? The girl who went after the three squires at Harrenhal because Howland was “[her] father’s man”, the girl who entrusted her child’s life to her brother and was comforted in her death throes by Ned’s promise would never be alright with something that put her family or her people in danger.

Can we not undermine Lyanna’s bond with her family? From what we know about her, Lyanna was fiercely protective of her own with a high sense of honor, justice and Northern nationalism. She had a strong relationship with her brothers that one rode to the capital at once in her defense, one strove to keep his word to her no matter the cost to his person, and one joined the Night’s Watch probably out of guilt. Two of her brothers loved her son as their own. She may have felt stifled by her father and hated his plans for her but that does not mean she loved him any less. She wanted to be buried beside him (and no, that’s not about Brandon. Lyanna wanted to be next to Rickard as much as she wanted to be next to Brandon.) This is a family with very strong familial bonds and a girl with deep love for her family. Please do not reduce that just to ease the implications of Rhaegar fighting in Aerys’ name. No prophecy would be worth her family’s life, their blood would never be an acceptable cost to Lyanna. That’s not who she was.

promises (stan uris)

anonymous asked:

could you please do a Stan x Tozier! Reader where the reader has a stutter like Bill and Stan promises to never make fun of her for it but they get in a fight and he brings it up? you can choose the ending! thanks!!

I LOVE ANGST THANKS. too aggressive? sorry, aha. but angst is my strong suit so i hope you enjoy!

pair: stan x tozier!reader

warnings: cussing, angst, lots of tears

prompts | request here

it masterlist

“these are my friends, bill and stan. bill over here has a stutter, just like you y/n. guys, this is my sister, y/n,” richie pushes you towards them and you kept looking down at your shoes. they’re dirty and a bit battered but it was fine.

“h-hi, i-i’m b-b-bill,” bill held his hand out to you and you gave it a light shake as you finally looked up at him.

“i-i’m y-y/n,” your voice was small, barely audible. stan stepped forward and shook your hand, too.

“i’m stan. i don’t have a stutter but you seem cool, so i’ll be your friend, too,” he smiled and you laughed, an angelic sound to stan’s ears.

“c-cool, i g-guess,” you say, a bit shaky.

“here, to prove my loyalty, i’ll make a promise with you,” stan held his pinky to it and nodded his head at you to his pinky and you quickly lace yours with his, “i promise to never make fun of your stutter. i even pinky promise, which i never do.”

“i a-ac-accept your promise,” you smile and let go of his pinky.

“repeat after me y/n: ‘the chocolate chip cookies smelled so good that I ate one without asking.’ come on,” richie waved his hand at you to signal you to speak. you sighed and tried to remember the phrase he just said.

“the ch-chocolate chip c-cookies sm-smelled- f-fuck! s-sorry r-richie, i j-just c-can’t d-do it!” you groan and laid back on the couch.

“it’s okay, y/n. just go a little slower this time, okay?” richie tried to coax but you were already so impatient and you had to meet stand in a little bit.

“i g-got t-to g-go r-richie. i-i’m m-meeting s-st-stan a-at th=the p-park t-today,” you go to slip on your jacket and richie puts up the flashcards.

“okay y/n. if he stands you up again, i’ll beat his ass,” richie slapped his hand against his fist but he had a smirk on his face, nothing serious, as always. being his little sister was a burden and a blessing because of his gentleness but damn, was he overprotective.

“o-okay r-richie, s-see y-you l-later,” you shake your head and go out the door, making your way to the park. once you got there, you took a seat on the bench you and stan agreed to meet by and waited for him to come.

you were shaking your leg up and down, looking around for any sign of him. the chilly october wind was nipping at your skin, your teeth chattering together. you and stan have made plans to hang out three days ago and he always stood you up and rescheduled it. you were actually growing tired of it but you always agreed. love always has compromises, right?

you slammed the door of your house and hung your jacket on the coat rack. you stormed your way into your shared room with richie and slammed its door, too. you waited for two hours at the park and you probably walked around twice around its entirety. you flopped down on your bed, burying your face into your pillow.

“again, huh?” richie asked, not looking up from his comic book.

“y-yeah,” you croaked out, your voice rising eight octaves higher. you felt the bed dip and arms pulling you upright.

“are you crying?” richie took your face in his hands, looking into your eyes. “you are!”

“n-no, i-i’m n-not!” you wrangle your face out of his hand and looked down at your lap, feeling tears burn their way into your eyes. “o-okay, i a-am.”

richie pulled you in and rubbed your back, “i’m going to beat stan into a pulp and stomp on his stupid face,” he cooed, making his voice as sing-songy as possible. “but why are you crying?”

“b-b-because i f-feel l-like h-he do-doesn’t e-even w-want m-me an-anymore,” you sniffle, pulling away from richie, “h-he w-wo-wouldn’t st-stand m-me u-up th-thrice i-if h-he st-still l-liked m-me.”

“don’t think like that, y/n. any boy would be fucking lucky to have you and if anybody disagrees, i’ll make them think otherwise,” richie put his hand on your shoulder and you simply glanced at it. 

“th-thanks ri-richie b-but i-i’m j-just g-going to g-go to sl-sleep,” you sigh and lay down, pulling the covers over your head. you could feel richie get up from your bed and he turned off the lights. you felt tears run down your cheeks again, your mind racing with thoughts that pierced your heart even deeper.

why does it hurt this bad?

the next day, you were at the grocery store, picking up stuff at the order of your mom. you place the items in your basket and walked around, looking for some things you could add. you stroll down to the chips and candy aisle, grabbing two bags of chips and a bag of chocolate. as you were walking out of the aisle, you heard your name called.

“y/n!” you turned around and saw stan speed walking over to you. “hey, sorry i couldn’t make it yesterday.”

“i-it’s f-fine,” you uttered and turned around, heading for the checkout line.

“wait!” stan ran to catch up to you and followed you. “want to hang out later?”

“no.” you simply said and placed your items on the conveyor belt, pulling out the money your mom gave you.

“no? why not?”

“b-because i d-don’t w-want t-to, i-isn’t th-that ob-obvious?” you sassed and gave the cashier your money, grabbing your bags and walked away, not even bothering to get your change. you walk quickly, trying to leave stan behind.

“y/n! stop walking so fast!” you ignored his calls and kept walking, trying to ignore the familiar prick of tears. “y/n, stop!” stan grabbed your arm and spun you around.

“w-what?” you sneer and you saw stan furrow his eyebrows.

“why are you so mad?” stan’s face scrunched up and you felt fists clench around the plastic bags.

“m-maybe be-because y-you s-stood m-me u-up n-not o-one, n-not t-two, b-but f-f-four t-times! f-four, s-s-stanley!” you barked at him.

“yeah and i apologized for each time!” stan argued back but you let out a dry laugh.

“n-no, y-you k-kn-know h-how i f-felt af-after the f-fourth t-time?” you snapped.

“enlighten me.”

“i f-fu-fucking f-felt l-like i w-wasn’t g-good e-enough!” you jabbed his chest a bit, pushing him back.

“you’re overreacting-” 

“o-over-rreacting? wh-what th-the f-fuck?” you couldn’t believe what he was saying. “i a-am n-not! i h-have a f-fucking s-stutter! i g-get ma-made f-fun o-of a-and i f-feel l-like sh-shit e-everyday! h-how w-was i s-supposed t-to f-feel? j-jolly?”

then he said it. the words that brought your walls down, the words that unleased your tears from your eyes. the words that violated a fucking promise.

“well maybe i don’t want to deal with a stuttering girl all day! maybe i want to hear normal people speak normally!”

to say it fucking hurt was an understatement. “f-fuck y-you, st-stanley u-uris.”

stan regretted his words the moment it left his mouth and he even slapped his hand over it. “y/n, no, i didn’t mean that-”

“n-no! t-too l-late! i-if you hate m-my st-stutter s-so m-much, i’ll h-help y-you! it’s over.” you snarl and ran off, heaps of tears running down your face, your breathing becoming heavy as you felt your windpipe tighten. his words repeated over and over in your head. once you got home, you threw the groceries on the table and ran to your room, not even making it to your bed. you slid down the wall and sobbed. you sobbed until your chest ached, you sobbed until it was physically impossible to let out anymore tears.

fuck stanley uris. fuck him and his stupid curls. fuck him and his wonderful smile. fuck him and his bad jokes. fuck him and fuck me for still loving him.

days passed and you haven’t gone out the house. you even skipped the last three of school. all day, you laid in bed, only getting up to get food or use the bathroom. you had dark circles under your already red, puffy eyes, your hair was a mess and tissues littered your room.

richie found you that day in the room and vowed to kill stan before you calmed him down. he was the one who actually suggested you stayed home from school. he got your schoolwork for you and made sure you were clean everyday. talk all the shit you want about richie but he was the best brother you could ask for.

when the weekend came along, you knew you had to face the outside world somehow and you told richie you were going to go to the quarry to clear your mind. you hopped on your bike and pedaled all the way there. you walked your way to the edge of the cliff and sat down, letting your legs hang off.

you sat there for awhile, gazing into the blue-grey waters below. you contemplated on what you would do if you saw stan again. punch him? hug him? beat him up? all three, maybe? you didn’t know. you were still incredibly hurt and just the thought of stan was enough to make tears stream down your face. you constantly had to drag your sleeve across your face to wipe away the tears but they still kept on coming.

“y/n?” you turned around and to where the soft, whisper of a voice came from and saw stan standing there, binoculars around his neck, and a small rose in his hand. “richie told me you would be here.”

“oh,” you said, turning back around. you had to take deep breaths and wipe away any sign that you were crying. toziers don’t cry in front of people, that’s a fact. you felt stan sit beside you and you felt his gaze pierce the side of your head.

“s-s-stop s-s-staring, y-you c-creep,” you mumble, trying to fill the awkward silence. “wh-why a-are y-you e-even h-here? i th-thought y-you w-wanted t-to b-be w-with n-normal p-people.”

“i’m here because i’m a stupid jerk who doesn’t deserve you but is truly, truly sorry,” stan handed you the rose and you reluctantly held it your hand, twirling it around. “i know you don’t like roses but it was the first flower i saw.”


“y/n, i’m sorry. what i said was out of line and before you say it, yes i did go against that ancient promise. you can punch me now,” stan rambled but you kept your silence, just picking at the rose’s red petals. “please y/n, say something.”

“i h-hate y-you, st-stan. i f-f-fucking h-hate y-you and wh-what you s-s-said,” you drop the rose beside you and came face-to-face with him and his hurt expression, which drove a stake through your heart. “i f-f-fucking h-hate th-that i l-let y-you m-make me f-feel l-like i w-wasn’t e-enough, l-like i’m n-not n-n-normal.

hot tears were quickly falling down your cheeks and your voice was becoming shakier by the second. “i f-fucking h-hate y-you b-but m-most o-of a-all, i h-hate my-myself. i h-hate m-myself b-because i c-can’t s-seem to k-keep h-hating y-you. i h-hate th-that th-through a-all th-this, i st-still l-love you.”

you broke down into sobs right after the last word left your lips. you felt tired, mentally and physically. you didn’t fight off stan’s arms wrapping around you, you didn’t push him away as he rocked you back and forth, whispering apologies and sweet nothings into your hair.

“you’re right, y/n. you’re not normal. but not because you have a stutter, you’re not normal because you let a stupid person like me love you when you deserve much better,” stan murmured, his voice cracking. you pull away and examine his face, analyzing his features. he looked much like you but worse. 

his dark circles were so pronounced like he hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep since that day, his eyes were bloodshot and puffy and his curls were looking much more untamed than usual. he’s broken just like you.

you looked into his eyes and rested your forehead against his. the silence between you was so heavy, it was suffocating. then, he kissed you. his lips melded so nicely with yours, his warm and yours cold. you pulled away and smiled.

“i really hope you don’t think everything is forgiven,” you breathed out, playing with his curls.

“i know and i’m willing to do whatever it takes to get to that point, no matter how long,” stan held your hand in his and you laced your pinky with his.



Book!Jon holds everyone in contempt

I don’t think the show captures how much scorn Jon has for everyone and everything. So here’s Jon “You Can’t Sit With Me” Snow at his judgy, savage best. 

Sassmaster Jon to Janos Slynt:

Thorne was much the more clever of the two, Jon realized; this had his stink all over it. He was trapped. “I’ll go,” he said in a clipped, curt voice.
“M’lord,” Janos Slynt reminded him. “You’ll address me—”
“I’ll go, my lord. But you are making a mistake, my lord. You are sending the wrong man, my lord. Just the sight of me is going to anger Mance. My lord would have a better chance of reaching terms if he sent—”
“Terms?” Ser Alliser chuckled.” (ASoS)

Originally posted by thatlamenerd

Jon defending his pretty squire Satin from a drunk Septon (and launching a hundred Jon x Satin fics):

Septon Cellador spoke up. “This boy Satin. It’s said you mean to make him your steward and squire, in Tollett’s place. My lord, the boy’s a whore … a … dare I say … a painted catamite from the brothels of Oldtown.”
And you are a drunk. (ADwD)

Originally posted by crashthefandoms

Jon would rather talk to a banker than fanatical Selyse:

Then the queen beckoned to another curious member of her entourage: a tall gaunt stick of a man, his height accentuated by an outlandish three-tiered hat of purple felt. “And here we have the honorable Tycho Nestoris, an emissary of the Iron Bank of Braavos, come to treat with His Grace King Stannis.” 
“I hope we shall not inconvenience you too greatly.”
“Not at all, my lord. You are most welcome.” More welcome than this queen, if truth be told. (ADwD)

Originally posted by there-snothinglefttosay

Jon “Ain’t Got Time for This Bullshit” Snow:

“My lord father used to say a man should never draw his sword unless he means to use it.”
“Using it was my intent…I had been given to understand that the Night’s Watch defended the realm against such monsters. No one mentioned keeping them as pets.”
Another bloody southron fool.
“You are …?”
…The knight turned to his queen. “Your Grace, that is the King’s Tower there, if I am not mistaken. If I may have the honor?”
“As you wish.” The queen took his arm and swept past the men of the Night’s Watch with never a second glance.
Those flames on her crown are the warmest thing about her.  (ADwD)

Originally posted by xsvtl

Jon’s choice words for people who betray their family members:

When he espied Jon Snow, Axell Florent tossed a bone aside, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and sauntered over. With his bowed legs, barrel chest, and prominent ears, he presented a comical appearance, but Jon knew better than to laugh at him. He was an uncle to Queen Selyse and had been among the first to follow her in accepting Melisandre’s red god. If he is not a kinslayer, he is the next best thing. Axell Florent’s brother had been burned by Melisandre, Maester Aemon had informed him, yet Ser Axell had done little and less to stop it. What sort of man can stand by idly and watch his own brother being burned alive? (ADwD)

Originally posted by n-wordbelike

Jon observing Selyse loving fire more than her own husband:

Alys Karstark leaned close to Jon. “Snow during a wedding means a cold marriage. My lady mother always said so.”
He glanced at Queen Selyse. There must have been a blizzard the day she and Stannis wed. Huddled beneath her ermine mantle and surrounded by her ladies, serving girls, and knights, the southron queen seemed a frail, pale, shrunken thing. A strained smile was frozen into place on her thin lips, but her eyes brimmed with reverence. She hates the cold but loves the flames. He had only to look at her to see that. A word from Melisandre, and she would walk into the fire willingly, embrace it like a lover. (ADwD)

BONUS - I’m just going to pretend these are Jon’s thoughts about bending the knee to Dany:

“She went to one knee before him. ‘Sire.’ Am I humbled enough for you, Your Grace? Am I beaten, bowed, and broken sufficiently for your liking?
- The King’s Prize (Asha, ADWD)

Paul Stamets and Toddlers though...

I have this HC that Paul is really anxious around little kids. I mean talking to adults can be hard enough. Talking to and interacting with kids, especially toddlers, however, is a whole nother level. What if he accidentally hurts them, or makes them cry? And how are they able to understand him anyway? They can barely form coherent sentences. (I am also very certain, that Paul is not able to understand the way toddlers talk.) That’s why whenever the topic children comes up, Paul insists that he isn’t cut out to be a father.

One day Hugh asks him, whether he could watch his niece (I always imagine Hugh with at least one sister who has children) since he has an extra shift at work or needs to step in for a coworker. So Paul, who can’t say no to his boyfriend, finds himself in front of this three-year-old girl, who is just staring at him. He’s already fearing the worst. Screaming, tears…. both probably on either side and a young girl who never wants to visit her uncle again, because he is in a relationship with such a mean guy.

However, when Hugh returns that evening, he finds the two of them, kneeling in front of some of Paul’s mushrooms, while the astromycologist tries to explain the mycelium network in as simple words as he can find. And that’s when he is sure that Paul would manage just fine as a father.

Extra: Hugh’s niece giving Paul a kiss on the cheek while saying goodbye and asking her parents when she can visit the funny Mushroom-man again.

anonymous asked:

You can speak Korean and English FLUENTLY? I know this girl and she’s like “yeah i speak 6 languages”. Like no understanding and knowing a bunch of words does NOT mean you CAN SPEAK the language. So infuriating honestly. I can speak 4 languages FLUENTLY anyone born from where from can speak a minimal of 2 languages or more :D thats what i love about growing up here.

yes, i can speak both fluently. 

and it’s great that you can speak those languages fluently! and it’s great that some people are bilingual where you live.

however, you shouldn’t bring other people down for their language levels.
not everyone will reach fluency level immediately and it’s still admirable that the girl you know can understand other languages. also, it’s rude and can end up discouraging the person from continuing to learn more about their language(s).

the-crazy-drawer  asked:

So, I've just read that the others have helped you yesterday cuz of something that happened yesterday, so I've decided to give a few encouraging words. Evie, I'm gonna come out with it, that you've helped me tremendously. You've helped emotionally throughout my stressful parts in life. Most importantly, you've supported me through the toughest of times. I know I've said this to you before, but I'm just here to remind you on how much of a great friend you are to me. You're an amazing girl, Evie!

QwQ thank you, Gerry. It really means a lot. I’m so glad I’ve done something to at least help you a little :) *hug* You are awesome and a good friend :3 

anonymous asked:

I love his openness, the way we can talk about everything without judgement. The way we flirt and play small games about eachother. "Theres this hella cute girl, i dunno if you know her" i know its me, his words about me are the words used to describe art, because I am art for him, and he, the painter. Ive always felt black and blue, but he paints me a spring, pink, white, yellow. He gave me the key to unlock my heart. He makes me smile like I mean it. With him I can laugh for real. I love him..

Aweeee 💗

submissivejungkook  asked:

"Such rude words from someone in the ARMY.. I'm rather ashamed.." The bunny boy sighed and looked down. "Princess~ Don't let anyone bring you down, okay? Love yourself... In the words of RM hyung, 'Haters gon hate and players gon play. Mufuckas keep mufuckin all day-' Do you, baby!" // Really though.. Do you, sweet girl. I love you, and I would hate to see you leave. We don't talk often, and I'm sorry for that.. But you do mean a lot to me. Message me sometime~

that you kookie💞that means a lot to me// also thank you sweetheart, I’m really glad you enjoy what I do. I don’t plan on leaving so don’t worry😊I miss talking to you too hun I’ll be sure to message you!! love you too💞💕

It’s true, I am beyond f*cked up. I don’t mean I’m a bad person– I’m just not that girl next door with parents who raised her right with happy childhood memories, the girl that followed the rules of society.

I have chapters in my past that I don’t talk about, I’ve went through a lot and experienced things nobody my age should ever have to deal with. I am damaged goods with all kinds of issues– I am a f*cked up person.

I always liked the idea of being with someone who isn’t. Somebody you’d consider the “good guy,” because I felt as if it would keep me in check. That being with someone without hidden demons would rub off on me.

It’s frustrating as hell because you came back into my life and I’m not sure how I feel about it. I obviously have feelings for you, but would you ever understand or know the real me?

And if I told you, would you accept it?”

—  aftertheam, Something I wrote in my notes to send somebody but never did.

Once upon a time there was a beast and a curse and an enchantress, which I’m sure surprises nobody. Better put it this way: once upon a time a girl was locked in a castle, and she begged so hard not to be the sleeping princess that she became the beast. That’s more like it, anyway — fairytale logic. You get what you wish for, but it isn’t what you want.

“Don’t let it be a prince,” she begged, “don’t let it be a kiss I can’t see coming and can’t refuse.”

Enchantresses, wicked fairies, call them what you will — they’re all the same story in the end. No one will remember if this enchantress began the story by giving the princess a naming day gift of a hundred year sleep once the tale switches to another track. The point is that she didn’t mind granting this one favor. Maybe it was an issue of statistics. Maybe she thought finding a girl who would fall in love with a princess-beast would be harder than finding a prince to kiss her, make her curse harder to lift (considering the probabilities of who might wander onto the cursed castle grounds). As if girls who love girls don’t know they have to fight harder to begin with, as if they won’t cross miles for each other.

So maybe there was a spindle once, but now there is a rose, and a girl who wanders through a thorn maze unable to find her way. This is the wrong story, she thinks to herself, clutching her leather satchel tighter, but she doesn’t know what the right story is.

“Let me through?” She suggests to the roses that grow squeezed between their own thorns along the twisting hedges. “I’m looking for the love of my life. I’m in a hurry.”

She’s met only with the rustling of leaves and haughty scoffs. “No prince ever found his true love by being in a hurry.”

“I’m not a prince. I’m a shoemaker, and I’m lost. Can you let me through to the castle?” It rises dark and spindly overhead, but though it seems so close she can see no way out of the maze.

Laughter, echoing through the hedge corridors, and then something dark prowls around the corner and half-crouches there, hidden as much as possible under a hooded cloak. Shining talons dig into the earth under their feet.

The beast says, “A shoemaker? You really are in the wrong story.” Her voice is gravely and doesn’t match the laughter. That must have been the roses as well.

“I have glass shoes,” the girl says, staring at those claws. “Or I can make something sturdier, if you give me time.”

“I don’t have enough time of my own to be giving it away,” the beast says, bored, and gestures around them. Even now the hedges seem to be encroaching further into the maze’s corridors, the roses growing and multiplying. One day soon, the girl realizes, the maze will entirely fill in, and the castle will be blocked off.

She’s clever, and she’s brave, and those are the two most important things for a fairytale heroine to be — besides pretty, but that’s easy enough to fake with the right kind of smile. “Then don’t give it to me,” she says, “we can share.”

So the beast reaches out one arm, fingers tapering into knives that she curls so gently they don’t more than scratch the girl’s skin — and the shoemaker takes it with an earnest gravity, looking right under her cloak’s shadow and into her eyes.

The beast’s eyes are unnaturally big and inhumanly shaped, but they’re not cruel, and in fairytales the evil beasts always have cruel eyes. The girl bobs a polite curtsey, using the beast’s arm for balance, and sees those eyes narrow slightly with amusement.

They walk through the twists and turns of the maze to the castle, the beast bent slightly so as not to tower over her guest. “About those shoes,” she says, when they reach the front doors, golden light spilling from the entrance hall and shining through the delicately carved details in the ancient wood.

“In the morning,” the girl says, and because she clearly has not even entertained the thought that she might be argued with, the beast cannot summon an objection. She watches the girl follow an unfurling carpet along the floor to a dusty guest room with no hesitation, as if every dwelling should be as accommodating.

And in the way of fairytales, that’s enough to make the beast fall in love — a disregard for every unspoken rule, a smile that glimmers in the darkness. Should I tell you that the moment the girl arrives at breakfast the next morning the beast can barely look away from her for a moment, that she stays by the girl’s side as she produces leather and tools from nowhere and searches floor by floor for the perfect room to work in — or should I let you imagine for yourself?

Gradually the hood is pulled back, eventually the cloak discarded altogether; they sit in patches of sunlight together to eat lunch, staring down at the maze below. Roses and leaves devouring each other and everything in slow motion.

“If you stay too long you’ll be trapped here,” the beast warns, anxious when the girls shows no concern in her usual solemn air as she watches the maze devolve.

“I haven’t finished your shoes,” is all she says. Each new morning she promises that in return for this latest night of hospitality she is making the shoes more beautiful, and each evening that she has not finished she stays another night.

Sometimes when the girl has gone to bed the beast sneaks back into the workroom, in agony over whether to rip out the stitches or finish the work for her.

Leave before you are trapped here forever.

Stay here forever because I love you.

Each night she does not touch the shoes and returns to sleep herself, and in the morning the girl thanks her for letting her stay, as if the beast could ever turn her out, and promises to repay the night with even more beautiful shoes.

And each morning the beast says, “That’s fair,” and wishes she could find different words, the words she means to say.

The maze grows. The roses are larger than hands with fully spread fingers. The corridors are barely large enough for a small girl to squeeze through. In the dawn light it is lit gently and slightly pink, but the sight of it is painful. The wide window of the workroom shows the progress the maze had made alarmingly clearly, and it’s only then that the beast wonders if that was the appeal of this room over all the others.

The girl appears silently in the doorway as she has for the past week. “Thank you for letting me stay last night. I’ll repay you—”

“No,” the beast says, her voice alarmed and rough. “No. You are leaving now.”


“Before you can’t leave. You must go now.” Her throat is closing up and her voice growing thicker with each word. They’re not the words she wants to say.

The girl cocks her head, a curiously nonjudgmental silence. Finally she crosses the room to her worktable and picks up the shoes, turning them around and around again. They’re boots, really, and almost comically big in her hands. The beast cannot tell if they are as beautiful as she was promised, because the girl is smiling now and that eclipses all else.

“Are they finished?” She asks.

“Yes,” the beast says, unable to choke out anything more.

The girl leaves the boots on the table and swings her satchel, out of nowhere, across her shoulders. “Thank you for sharing your time,” she says. For a moment she holds the beast’s hand in both of hers, and then she’s gone. From the window the beast can watch her leave; for all her trouble getting there, she finds her way out with ease.

She leaves the workroom and doesn’t return all day.

Do beasts grieve? She hadn’t thought they could. She hadn’t grieved when the curse was settled on her; she hadn’t grieved at the idea that it might never lift once the maze finally knit itself together during the coming night. But the loneliness she feels now was different. The absence of the shoemaker is something worse. She’d had no choice in her fate, but she had told the girl to leave. This misery she’d brought on herself.

At night she wanders back into the workroom out of habit, sleepless and hopeless and refusing to glance out the window. Has it happened yet? Is she truly trapped now, or will it happen in five minutes, an hour, at dawn? She stares at the boots for an indeterminable amount of time before she thinks of putting them on.

She does so only because she thinks the girl wanted her to wear them; left to her own devices she might have destroyed them with as little thought as she now gives to slipping them on. They are big enough, and the fasteners are easy to close even with her unwieldy claws. Designs etched into the leather yet invisible in the darkness spiral and branch out beneath the thumb-pad she runs over them. Vines, she thinks. Roses.

A tear slips out, or three, as she stands in her beautiful new boots and smells leather and rotting roses. I want her back, she thinks, even as a wave of thankfulness rises up from the deepness in her, thankfulness that the shoemaker will never feel this trapped. I want to go to her, she revises. Since she doesn’t know how, she goes to leave the workroom instead.

One step and darkness is rushing past her. The rough scrap of stone walls, the rustle of leaves and the tearing of thorns, night air soft all around her. She has stepped not into the hallway but out of the castle, beyond the maze, into the star-dappled night.

“What did you do?” She asks, alarmed, almost before she sees the shoemaker sitting cross-legged on the grassy hill, as still as if she has been waiting all day and night. “What happened?”

“I found what I came for,” the girl says calmly. “And I made her shoes.”