Yes, not all Ravenclaws have to be studious. What KIND of intelligence you posses (booksmarts, thinking out of the box, social smarts etc), that’s what can vary greatly from person to person (a procrastinator who never learns, but has revolutionary ideas can still be a Raven), the fact that you need to be intelligent in SOME way to qualify, however remains, since its literally the houses defining trait.
You turned to your side in bed, eyes closed, trying to sleep. About a minute or so later, you turned again. The sound of moans, screams, and grunts were the only thing you could hear in the silence you were wanting. Whoever your neighbor was fucking, they must be really good because all you could hear was a girl begging for more of whatever she was getting.
Groaning, you grabbed your pillow out from under you and placed it on your face. Maybe suffocating yourself would drown out the sex thrilled room next door. When you could still hear them, and they were getting louder, you let out a frustrated sigh and threw your pillow and blanket off you. You got out of bed and stomped over to the wall they were having sex against.
Banging your fist against the wall, you yelled, “Ditch school tomorrow and have sex all fucking day! I’m trying to sleep!”
Just seconds after you stopped banging your fist, a male voice was heard, along with their hand banging against the wall. “Fuck off,” he yelled.
You laughed in disbelief. “These mother—” Before you could leave your studio to yell at the neighbors, a door. You listened quietly.
Whoever was outside was banging on your neighbor’s door rather loudly. “Hey you fucking horny shits, shut the fuck up!”
“He sounds super pissed,” you quietly mumbled.
The loud sex stopped, but followed angry voices and stomping. The door swung open followed by a male’s voice, “What the fuck do you want?”
“For you to shut the fuck up!” the other yelled back.
“Fuck off, buddy.” Then the door slammed. There was a second of silence before banging was heard again. It continued until the door opened again. “I told you—”
You heard a punch followed by a gasp by a female. “Shut up,” you heard the angry man said before storming off.
You heard the woman say something, but she was immediately interrupted by her lover yelling, “Don’t touch me!”
Letting out a triumphant smile, you walked back over to your bed, climbed in, and happily fell asleep.
Day 3 of Pride Month (because I’m a shit person who started late)
Peter Parker (Tom holland) x Male!Reader
Prompt: Reader is walking home from work and a certain web slinger, drops on by (Spider-Man kiss w/ male reader)
To say (y/n) had had a rough day would be an understatement, to start off this horrific day he’d woken up 20 Minutes late with no time to shower or eat breakfast, he’d barely made it to class on time. Throughout the day he felt as though his teachers had all agreed the previous night to mess with him today. To add on to his pain, he hadn’t see his best friend, and crush Peter Parker.
(Y/n) had been harboring this crush on Peter the entirety of the time he’s known him. He was scared he’d reject him, and he’d become the school’s laughingstock, it was bad enough that people were making comments about his being out as gay. So (Y/n) kept this massive crush to himself, and told himself that he’d much rather never face the embarrassment of being rejected, after all Peter was one of his only male friends that didn’t hesitate to touch him.
Tge differences between Antisepticeye and Darkiplier
The bizarre difference between Antisepticeye and Darkiplier is the fact that Dark is contained. He speaks slowly and clearly, is really still the whole time, only moving his head with small hand gestures, and has a penetrating look with wide but focused and perverse eyes.
Antisepticeye is really agitated, always abruptly moving and teleporting everywhere. His gliches are really…panicky, almost as trying to physically rip Jack’s chest off from the inside, like a person who’s drowning or digging out from beneath the earth with his own hands.
He’s often really distressed and agressive.
His insanity is based on allucinations, spikes of energy and uncontrollable laughing at nothing. He has the traits of an insane psychopath basically, that finds joy in terrorizing others by making them awake and ready to run away from him.
When he appears, he always give us a really agonizing scream, making us jump and be aware of his presence. And when he speaks, his voice can’t make up one single form because he’s changing all the time, and his words are sharp and full of anger, bitterness, and sass. He mocks you for falling in his mental games and lurks behind Jack to make him alert.
Antisepticeye is angry and likes to fill you up with adrenaline.
Now, Darkiplier, is a whole new concept.
His insanity is based on obsession, emotion and control. When he said “I can give you anything!” He didn’t scream it with anger, but said it firmly and certain.
His movements are really superficial and not at all panicky like Anti trying to escape, but like he is always there, waiting to show up as he wishes. As well as Anti posses Jack out of nowhere, Dark gets inside your mind, manipulating you for his own gain.
When he appears, he doesn’t make you jump and want to run away, you actually get numb, you tense up and hold your breath, waiting for it to be over. As opposed to Anti, who most likely hates everything and everyone, Dark actually likes your presence, he kills people with such grace and serenity. He has the traits of an insane sociopath, with pacience and perfection.
Both of them are insane, but each one has their own personality and ways of dealing with things. They are unique just like their hosts, and therefore are different from anything we’ve ever seen. (-G.O)
growing up in Winterfell was like being raised by wolves. we ran through the heated stone & the summer snows with a wildness in our blood, and we loved each other fiercely. we were a pack; all the seven hells to deal with for any poor Maester or Septa. we knew nothing of the winter. we knew nothing of war. that was perhaps the worst of it, that the Gods let us know what it was like to be loved and to be happy, before they ripped it away.
QUICK NOTE: Requests are open, you are more than welcome to request one or more oneshot(s)
The big boss man, Vince McMahon himself, had decided that Roman needed a lover.
And of course, that would be you. You two had been in this storyline for a few months now, although it hadn’t made that much progress. The two of you were currently going over tonight’s script.
Roman was leaning up against the wall, facing you while you were sitting on a crate. “This is stupid.” You muttered, glaring at the piece of paper in front of you.
“Why’s that?” Roman asked, looking up at you.
“Why’s that? Have you read this? They decided to make me a damsel in distress! ‘Oh no Roman! The mean man scares me, help!’ I could kick Bray’s ass.” You spat angrily, tossing the script to the floor. Roman chuckled, shaking his head at you. “I’m sure you could.”
A crew member with a thick ginger beard walked up, stopping at looking at you. “Your match is now.” You nodded at the man, jumping off the crate. You jogged down the hallway, turning around and giving Roman a Salute, “I’ll see you in ten minutes or so!”
Your music hit, signaling it’s your turn to go out. Pushing through the curtains, you gave a big grin as the crowd burst into cheers. Making your way down to the ring; you kept eye contact with Paige. You slid into the ring, going into your corner.
The bell rung and the two of you met in the middle, you getting the upper hand and bringing Paige to the ground. You stood up and quickly delivering an elbow drop, giving you the time you needed to get to the top rope. Carefully, you stood up and got your balance. You brought your arm up, why not add a little bit to the storytelling. You clocked your fit like Roman does, getting a reaction from the crowd. Paige has stood up and spun around, only to get a fist to the face. You just hit her with superman punch, off of the top rope. You didn’t quite stick the landing though; nearly gasping in pain as your ankle twisted underneath you.
“Son of a bitch!” You spat out, holding onto the ropes for support. Paige had stood up, scooping you up and slamming you onto the ground. She covered you for the pin, quickly asking if you were okay, you nodded. Stopping the count at two, you kicked you.
The Wyatt family music hit and the lights went out. Your eyes widened, they weren’t supposed to come out until the match was over.
By the time the lights were back on, you had stood up and Paige was gone, the Wyatt family now in the ring. Bray and Luke Harper stood in front of you, meaning Braun Strowman was probably behind you. You confirmed your worries when you backed up, only for your back to meet a chest. You turned around and literally looked up at him.
Suddenly you were scooped up by Strowman, he had you in a fireman’s carry. “What the fuck!” You spat, your fists hitting the large man in the back. This wasn’t part of the script, hell they weren’t even supposed to be out here. Bray had picked up a microphone, all he had said was “Anybody but you.” You were confused, maybe even a little bit scared; not that you would ever admit that.
The Wyatt’s left the ring, you still being carried by Strowman. Then none other than Roman Reigns’ music hit, causing the crowd to cheer. You watched as he nearly ran down the stairs, the family quickly retreating, scrambling up the ramp to the stagetop. By the time Roman had jumped the barrier, the Wyatt family, and you, had made their way backstage.
You passed crew members and superstars on the way, nobody batted an eye. You had given up trying to escape Strowman’s grasp, letting yourself lay limp in his grasp.
Suddenly, he put you down. You were in a broom closet. Luke and Bray had shut the door; leaving. Braun was silent, leaning against the door. You sighed and sat down on the floor, letting your head lean back against the wall. Braun had tapped you on the shoulder, making you open your eyes. In his hand was a dark red apple, “Eat.” Was all he said. You gave him a small smile, taking the apple from his hand.
How long you two were in the closet, you weren’t sure. A knock at the door made you jump, Strowman looked at you and gave you a look that said sorry, before he picked you up again and walked out. You let out a groan as they walked over to the curtains, probably watching the TV screen to see what was happening in the ring but you couldn’t see.
“I am not leaving ring until Bray Wyatt and his posse get their asses out here now!” You heard Roman spit, his voice deep and angry. Bray laughed. Then you heard the Wyatt family music hit, and we were headed down the ramp.
You were put down in the ring, surrounded by the three Wyatt’s. You looked at Roman, eyes wide.
Roman decided it was a lovely idea to attack Bray, completely disregarding the fact that Bray had backup. Harper and Strowman were on him in an instant. They tore him off and beat him down. You sat there with your eyes wide. You couldn’t just stand there, you had to do something! So you did.
Bray had Roman set up for Sister Abigail, his back facing you. You did the first thing that came to mind. You ran up behind him and threw your foot up, hitting him with a low blow. He released Roman, who fell to the ground.
Pain filled your face as you hit the ground, Luke Harper had super kicked you right in the jaw. Was that actually supposed to make contact? You weren’t sure. It sure hurt like a bitch though. You looked up to find Luke having the shit beat out of him by Roman, who was furious. You scrambled up, grabbing Roman and pulling him back. His breathing was heavy. The Wyatt’s had fled the ring.
Roman had turned around and cupped your face, running his thumb along your jaw. “Are you alright baby girl?” His voice was no longer angry, it was soft and caring. Your cheeks tinted pink as you gave him a nod. He smiled and wrapped his arms around you, bringing you into his chest and lifting you off the ground. You laughed as you wrapped your legs around him, resting your head on his shoulder.
The crowd had began chanting ‘kiss’ causing both of your cheeks to heat up while looking at each other. Roman shrugged, making you tilt your head in confusion. Hoping down off of Romans waist, you looked down, hoping your hair would hide how red your face was right now. His fingers met your chin and lifted your face up, forcing you to look at him. He was smiling.
Then his lips met yours, causing your eyes to widen and the crowd to erupt into cheers. It was a soft kiss, merely a gentle peck of the lips. But it was over nearly as soon as it began. Roman turned to leave, only to be pulled back by you. You reached up and pulled his head down, getting up on your tippy toes. You brought your lips to his, him immediately kissing you back and pulling you into him. This kiss was much different from the first one, this was probably more heated than it should have been seeming you were on like TV. As cheesey as it sounds, you felt sparks fly, it seemed like everyone around you had disappeared.
When this kiss finally broke, you both looked at each other and smiled widely. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” He spoke, holding onto your hand. All you could do was laugh and the both of you made your way out of the ring. Roman’s music played and you made your way up the ramp, grinning like a fool the whole time.
Can I add a request for a Housekeeper sequal/prequal/drabble/poem/anything for your promptathon? Thank you and congratulations!
How about a first meeting prequel?
If you haven’t read The Housekeeper, you can do so here. It’s not necessary to read it first as this is when they first meet.
There was a woman in his shop.
Now, that fact alone wasn’t unusual. Women came into the shop all the time but they usually used the front door, were shopping for antiques and wore more than a gold bikini.
This woman…this woman had materialized in a cloud of smoke in the back room of his shop and was now bowing reverently before him with her hands clasped over her head as if seeking mercy.
Nelson Gold did not usually have trouble mincing words, but at the moment, it was all he could do to keep his grip on the odd oil lamp he had been cleaning…the very item which just moments ago began to emit smoke which had materialized into the very odd woman before them. The half rusted antique had returned to being an innocent knick knack and while Gold was tempted to drop it to the ground, his fingers clutched it like a lifeline.
It was Neal who finally broke the silence. “What are you wearing?” he asked, taking a step closer to the impossible woman as if to examine her attire more closely. .
“Neal!” Gold hissed as he grabbed his preteen by the back of his shirt and hauled him backwards.
Flustered, Neal tore himself away from his father’s grip tough he did not approach the woman again. “What? I’m just asking!”
So, this will be a wall of text, so be warned, but the story works best if you read it all the way through.
When I was fifteen or so, a girl, Georgia, started picking on a friend and I. It started out with taunting, teasing and insults, but when we failed to react, it escalated. She eventually resorted to punching us, kicking us, slapping us, slamming our heads down on desks every time she walked past us in lessons, jabbing us with sharpened pencils from behind, and once or twice she even got her posse to help out with a beating or two.
We were shy girls, who often attracted bullies because we were introverted and could come across as aloof because socialising wasn’t our strong suit. My friend and I usually had lessons apart from each other, so when Georgia went for us we were usually separated, and she wouldn’t take us on together, even though we never fought back.
However, one day, my friend had enough, and said that she’d be leaving school before the next term. She said she couldn’t take it any more and wanted to leave. I was really upset by this, because with my best friend leaving, being left alone with my bully and teenage angst all adding up, I ended up with depression.
My friend confirmed not long after that that her parents had agreed, and she would be leaving. But, she said, she had a plan to “go out with a bang”.
Hey love your work your so amazing I was wondering if you could do dean x sam x sister were they find out your possed by a demon but when they try to exorcise it something goes terribly wrong.
A/N: Thank you! And I hope you enjoy! … You are possessed by a demon. Your brothers saw it just in time before you could hurt them. You tried to take control of your body, but the demon is way too powerful over your small body. For a sixteen years old, you are small and really skinny. So, in the dungeon of the bunker, you are tied up on a chair, a devils trap drawn right underneath. Your brothers are talking in the other room and you can hear the demons thoughts in your head. You know that he knows that you have a knife hidden in your boot, somewhere your brothers didn’t thought to check. ‘I am going to kill your brohers’ the demon said in your head ‘than you and my mission will be completed’. “Get ready to go on a trip” Dean said entering the room “and a little warning, don’t ever come back and hurt my family”. “Well, it was sure fun to mess with your little sis” the demon said from your mouth “you would be surprised by all the things she thinks and everything she is hiding”. “Sam, start it”. Sam, standing at the door, starts saying the exorcism that he knows by heart. You don’t react to neither of the words he says, but instead, the demon moves your body towards the knife in your boot. He fakes leaning forward in pain, and brings up your legs as much as he can. You feel your hand touch the knife and you panic, yelling internally, but of course, your brothers doesn’t hear you. “It’ll be over soon, (Y/N)” Dean said. You wish you could believe him, but no. You know what the demon is planning. The demon starts laughing and cuts the rope around your wrist and stabs you in the stomach. In the inside, you scream in pain, but the outside just laughs. “You son of a bitch!” Dean exclaimed. “Dean! The exorcism isn’t working! She is maybe sealed inside, get her knife”. Dean does, he takes your knife and pins you down on the chair. The demon just keeps punching and kicking, but Dean manages to keep you calm while Sam checks for a mark and finds it behind your neck. He takes the knife in Dean’s hand and makes a small cut to break it. He restarts the exorcism, and this time it works. Once he says the last word, the demon get out of your body. The second you have the control of yourself, you fall in Dean’s arms, completely exhausted and in pain. “(Y/N)?” Dean asked, holding your head in his hands. “Dean, we need to take her to the hospital” Sam said urgently. Dean nods and takes you up in his arms. You gasp in pain, getting a sad and worried look from both of your brothers. … “I don’t understand how this could have happened”. “I don’t either… the doc said that she was beaten and… god… I can’t believe this happened to her”. “I just don’t know how we’ll tell her”. You open your eyes, as much as you can, but because of the sudden pain in your body, you groan inside. “(Y/N)?” You force your eyes open and look at your two older brothers, both looking worried. “Sam… Dee…” “Yeah, kiddo” Sam smiled “it’s us”. You try to sit up, but something on your body feels weird… it’s like you are missing something. “Sam? Dean?” You start panicking “I… I …. Can’t… my legs…” “Hey, hey, hey” Dean stops you and lays you back down “it’s okay. Something happened, you remember right?” “Yeah, the demon…” “Well, it beaten you and damaged your spinal cord, your legs are paralysed”. You stare at them, eyes wide in terror. You shake your head, not wanting to believe it. Without your legs, there is no hunting and you won’t be able to do anything. “No… no, no, no, no”. “It’s okay” Dean assured you putting a hand on your back “it’s okay, it’s okay. We’ll deal with this and you will be alright”. ‘Define alright’ you thought to yourself.
When the male gender posse crawl out of whatever gutter they wallow in to try to start shit on this site by saying terfs are all ugly and trans women are beautiful and more beautiful than terfs or lesbians or cis women or whatever else drivel that they love to smugly smack their lips to, it is beyond obvious how removed they are from the female experience they actually are. What woman somewhere, anywhere does not have at least (1) ugly/old/cantankerous/oddball/rude/nasty/political woman they admire to some degree. Even the most superficial, image obsessed, Instagram eyebrow teenagers and twenty somethings will sigh at the name of some brave woman who said “fuck it.” We admire them when we finally learn about them because deep down we are yearning for proof of the things that seem unspeakable. Armor clad warriors or hermit weirdos or titties out harpies or ‘I-dressed-like-a-man’ naughty-nellies to get into the reserves or even to go gamble their inheritance away, whatever it doesn’t matter women LOVE seeing messy haired, sarcastic, rough, loud mouth, wild women, even when they say they DON’T. Someone has a chain smoking aunt who drives a truck and says they’ll never let a man touch them or else they’ll pull their knife out on them, who looks “ugly” and they think they are the coolest. You can tell when a male wrote a post because they can’t imagine the envy, admiration, love, anger, yearning, awe that comes from being a woman who finally meets, sees, learns of an ugly shrew who misbehaved. They will never fucking GET IT. Every ugly woman that ever got her name known is proof of what we know but can’t articulate. Men really think our brains are made of fluff and we WANT to be made up dolls and when we fail at it we’re angry that we’re bad at it cause then we don’t get crusty male attention. They’ll never understand what it means to be called ugly, they don’t even understand what they mean when they say it. I’ll be as ugly as I want and my nasty words still mean something, so you can suck my fat ass as I keep making an angry mess on this stupid god forsaken shithole website of hell.
There’d been another killing, the people-being distraught and paranoid-called for yet another meeting to discuss the problem, and now here they all were, crammed into a townhouse to listen in. Some spilled out onto the streets. It was loud, that was for sure. Shouts coming from the left and the right, demanding a solution to the terror. One cocky sonovabitch suggested they form a posse go out and patrol the town at night come the next full moon.
Wilford glanced to Dark, leader of the pack. Wilford didn’t know why they couldn’t just confront the rival pack’s leader, even if there was bloodshed involved it’d be a hell of a lot better than having to listen to some old crows sobbing about ‘think of the children!’ for the umpteenth time. It’d be a quick solution to their problem. But no, he had to respect Dark’s decision. And hell, listening to him hasn’t gotten him killed yet, so he might as well.