story of the roommates

When your teacher asks if she can read your fanfic and you tell her rather not because it’s really hard sharing personal stuff with the people around you but you’re actually just tryna hide the smut

Write a story about a day in the life of three roommates. However, one of them uses only cartoon logic/physics, one runs on the logic of 80’s/90’s sitcoms, and the last is every action-movie hero cliché rolled into one person.

I feel like roommates make fun of Derek for the things we have come to love as canon.


Y/N: "Derek can I-”

Originally posted by sadphires

Y/N: “What? No. No, no, no. Don’t *immitates gif* me.”

Derek: “What?! I don’t do that!”

Y/N: “Sure.” *immitates gif again*

Derek: *gif*

Y/N: “See?! Right there! You just *gif*ed me!”


Originally posted by beaconhillsbetas

Y/N: “Isaac, you little shit, I am so much stronger than you. Don’t test me.”

Isaac: “Bull shit! I would kick your ass if it came down to it!”

Peter: “Children! Let the real wolves show you how it’s done. Derek, punch my hand.”

Derek: *gif*

Peter: *Stiles in gif*

Y/N: *after a moment of staring at Peter on the floor* “Well, that was just stupid. Even I could tell you that. He’s an Alpha, ya know.”

Peter: “I am the Alpha. I’ve always been the Alpha!”

Isaac: *after a moment of staring at Peter on the floor* “Yeah, okay.” *back to Y/N* “So, do you admit defeat?”

Y/N: “Never!”


Originally posted by izziebm

Originally posted by motivateyourselfeachandeveryday

Y/N, Peter, and Isaac: “Do you even own a shirt?”


Originally posted by whovian182

Y/N: “Oh, yeah. I forgot. Derek likes to make an entrance.”

Isaac: “Oh, God.”

Peter: “It’s just bringing in the pizza, for crying out loud.”

Derek: *gif* “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Y/N, Peter, and Isaac: *unanimous groan*

story idea

a superhero story where the villain and the superhero are roommates and they keep making excuses to each other about why they are out all the time and after battles they stitch each other up after battles but neither has any idea that the other is their nemesis and they keep on having to lie to each other why they are covered in scratches and bruises

Spider

Requested: HI!!! LOVE YOUR IMAGINES!!! Could you possibly write a Shawn imagine where there’s a giant bug in the bedroom and you kinda freak out and call Shawn into the bedroom to get it but he finds it amusing!!

~~~

You’re about to get into bed when some movement on the wall next to your bed catches your eye. Immediately, your eyes focus on the wall where you spotted the movement, and you catch sight of a spider the size of your fist. You want to scream, but you don’t let yourself make any noise until you’re safely outside the doorway fearing that your scream could scare the spider. More than that, you’re afraid the sound might cause the spider to flee and disappear, which would be your worst nightmare. However, as soon as you’re in the hall, you do scream, “Aaahhhhh! Shawn! Shawn!” You’re out of breath by the time you reach the living room, despite the fact that the distance was not very far in your tiny apartment. Shawn meets you at the entrance to the living room, since he had heard you screaming, he was on his way towards you.

“What’s wrong? Babe are you okay?” He asks frantically. His eyes are wide with concern and his guitar is still in his hand, since he had been working on a song.

Keep reading

For elsewhere university - What if a music major who regularly practices inside their room (and really only their room. Playing elsewhere is a bad idea.) just has a fae casually listening in away from sight. Like the music mayor knows their there but just doesn’t say anything till they finally get super annoyed, cause really the fae choose the worst spot to hide, plus they keep their personal music sheets there n are really annoyed to find them missing.

So one day they just call them out n invite them in. ’“I know ur there, if u wanna listen then go head won’t stop u (not tht they can anyways.) Also I’ll give you an entire gallon of pure coffee cream or whatever food necessary to keep u from my music sheets. Im bad enough at procrastinating, I don’t need them missing too.” They just sorta don’t expect a reply n really keep playing, sometimes loudly declaring out loud “I wonder what I should play next!”

[Anon]

A Ghost-compiled summation of observed behaviors and activities over the course of one cycle in the company of a Risen Gunslinger.


[Entry 1.1] Guardian has been standing completely still in Tower plaza for approximately 3 hours. By my count, Guardian has not slept in 36 hours.

[Entry 1.2] Guardian spent fifteen minutes repeatedly jumping off of Tower. Hence, ten minutes of near-constant Ghost revival, punctuated only by a single visit to Eris Morn. Eris refused to dance with Guardian.

[Entry 1.3] Guardian spoke briefly with Cayde-6 while crouched on Vanguard table. I could offer him no explanation.

Guardian returned to orbit; set course for Mars.


[Entry 1.4] Guardian encountered another Gunslinger while on patrol. The two attempted some kind of synchronized handshake or greeting for the better part of five minutes without speaking. I do not believe they succeeded in their timing.

[Entry 1.5] Both Guardians spent one hour attempting to kills Vex Hydras with nothing but throwing knives. Succeeded. Admired each other’s cloaks.

Guardian returned to orbit alone; set course for Luna.


[Entry 1.6] Guardian spent one hour repeatedly trying to jump over the Hellmouth while riding Sparrow. Did not succeed. Guardian has not slept in 42 hours.

[Entry 1.7] Guardian received assassination bounty from Hunter Vanguard Cayde-6. Danced upon receipt; shot several rockets into the sky while spinning in circles. 

[Entry 1.8] Guardian has grown strangely quiet. Has been transmatting various weapons and armor for several minutes.

[Entry 1.9] Guardian has equipped gauntlets crafted from the bones of an extinct creature. Spent 45 minutes adjusting color scheme of armor. Seems quite fond of appearance; asked me for several image-captures. Complimented her own cloak several times. 

[Entry 1.1.0] Guardian abruptly re-summoned Sparrow, rode Sparrow into depths of Hive temple. Did not dismount Sparrow. Sparrow destroyed due to repeated collisions with sentient and natural obstacles.

[Entry 1.1.1] Upon reaching Summoning Pits, Guardian attempted to kill Hive Abomination with sidearm. Failed.

[Entry 1.1.2] Upon Ghost revival, Guardian managed to single-handedly annihilate Hive Abomination with the combined power of the City’s finest weaponry.  Proceeded to dance on corpse of eliminated foe. 

[Entry 1.1.3] Guardian spent approximately one hour shooting walls of Hive tunnels, attempting to spell rude words.

Guardian returned to orbit, set course for Tower. 


[Entry 1.1.4] Guardian spent 5 hours attempting to persuade Commander Zavala to read lewd/inappropriate Fireteam names over Tower PA system. Guardian has not slept in 55 hours.

Guardian returned to Orbit. Set course for the Reef.


[Entry 1.1.5] Guardian spent seven minutes crouched behind Petra Venj, trying to hide from other Guardians. Obtained bounties from the regent. Leapt to her death in apparent celebration.

Guardian returned to orbit. Set course for Venus.


[Entry 1.1.6] Guardian singlehandedly killed Stirok, Banner of Oryx. Proceeded to dance on corpse of eliminated foe. 

[Entry 1.1.7] Guardian lost consciousness [slept?] for ~30 seconds while dancing; jerked awake screaming, related a description of a “Giant, bottomless mouth” attempting to devour her.

Guardian returned to orbit. Set course for Taken Dreadnought. 


[Entry 1.1.8] Appears to be in a bad mood. Refused to speak with me. Spent duration of journey in silence, stroking bone gauntlets.

[Entry 1.1.9] Guardian descended into depths of Dreadnought. Grim of aspect. Has repeatedly refused comm contacts from Vanguard. Seems determined.  Guardian has not slept in 62 hours.

[Entry 1.1.1.0] Guardian has utterly destroyed legions of Hive thrall, several minor priests, and a Coven Mother.

[Entry 1.1.1.1] Guardian has discovered apparent target: Hive Priest.

[Entry 1.1.1.2] Guardian has dispatched said target using only her boot-knife. Did not cease stabbing corpse of creature until long after it had expired and her armor was covered in gore and ichor. Ignored my attempts to drag her away - too busy laughing. I returned to stasis in protest. 

Guardian returned to orbit. Set course for Tower. 


[Entry 1.1.1.3] Guardian repeatedly asking me “What I just said.” I have not said anything to her. She seems distracted. Has not slept in at least 68 hours. 

[Entry 1.1.1.4] Guardian spoke briefly to Hunter Vanguard while dancing on table. Returned to Tower plaza.

[Entry 1.1.1.5] Guardian has been staring into the sky without blinking for one hour. Guardian is muttering to someone who is not me.

[Entry 1.1.1.6] Guardian refuses to sleep.

Crying

masterlist || coming soon//recently posted || tell me something?

Requested: Can you please do an imagine where y/n is crying bc she feels herself so bad (smth hurts or she’s giving birth) and Shawn hates it cause he can’t do anything about it?

Your name: submit What is this?

~~~

When you’re really sick, you have a tendency to cry or whimper in your sleep. You’ve been doing this for as long as you can remember. It used to freak your parents out because you’d be asleep and they couldn’t help you without waking you up, and then the same thing happened with your roommates once you started attending Uni. While it is happening, you are vaguely aware of it, but not fully because you’re actually asleep so you can’t stop it unless you wake yourself up.

“Shhhh,” You hear your boyfriends soft voice cooing in your ear as one of his arms is wrapped around your shoulder holding you securely close to his chest, while his other hand is gently pushing your hair from your tear stained cheeks and wiping the tears from your face. “Shhhh,” He tries to comfort you more as you slowly wake up and realize what is happening. “It’s okay y/n, I got you.” His voice is low and soothing. He knows you were asleep and making all these noises in your sleep, but he’s still trying to comfort you because he doesn’t know what else to do. 

Your eyes open, and it feels like your headache gets even worse if that’s even possible. You move slightly and he looks down at you to see that your eyes are open, he exhales audibly, “Oh thank God you’re awake. I don’t know how much more of that I could take” he says honestly. And you know he’s talking about the way that you were crying and whimpering in your sleep.

Keep reading

Remember

You don’t remember coming to Elsewhere University. You don’t remember a lot of things.

Apparently you had bet one year of your personal memories.

You don’t remember. The wager was counted as part of that year.

Your profs have sympathy, some of them, but they cut you no slack. You remember all the information from your lectures, even if you don’t remember attending them.

You don’t remember whether your roommate was always like this, or whether the figure who shares your dorm is actually your roommate. It could be either; you remember stories, only told in hushed voices, but you don’t remember hearing the stories.

You talk to your friends, or at least they say they were your friends. They seem like the kind of people you would have made friends with, but you don’t know. Maybe you can become friends again.

You remember the rules. You remember them with more clarity than anything else in your life, at least now.

Bet nothing you cannot afford to lose.

You don’t remember deciding to disregard it.

anonymous asked:

Any prompt for someone asking a friend to be roommates because it will save their ass please ? I'm struggling so much with this scene O.o

1) “Will you be my roommate?”
“Only if you get down on one knee with an onion ring and ask properly.”


2) “I really, really, really don’t want to end up living with strangers.” I couldn’t bear the thought - they might be awful, they might come back at all hours of the night or leave rotting plates of food everywhere. But I couldn’t afford my own place. 
“I will on the condition that you move in with me,” their friend said. They didn’t look up. “Your place is a dump.”


3) “Will you be my roommate?”
“Oh thank god.” Their friend deflated. “You’ve been walking on eggshells all day, I thought you were going to tell me you were dying. Yeah, sure.”


4) “I need a roommate.” They tried to sound casual about it, but something in their face or voice must have given away an edge of desperation, because their friend went still. Their eyes narrowed. 
“What’s happened?”


5) “Will you be my roommate?” 
“I thought we were practically roommates already.” 

Glamours pt. 1

“Pretzel!” Tex, my roommate, waved at me and motioned to the corner she had set up in and motioned for me to come over. “What are you doing out so late?”
“It’s not that late.”
“Yeah, it is. It’s-” Tex glanced at her laptop, “two thirty in the morning. What are you doing in the library at two thirty in the morning? You have morning classes.”
“I was just studying. The time must’ve gotten away from me.”
“Where exactly were you studying? ‘Cause you don’t want to end up in… Certain Places.” Tex shuddered, remembering the time she vanished for three days before her boyfriend dragged her out of the forest, feet bleeding and eyes wild.
“I appreciate you worrying about me, but I’m fine. I’ve got, like, five pounds of salt packets sewn into my clothes, and a bunch of nails in my pockets.” I pulled a rusted nail out and showed it to her. “Besides, what are you doing in the library so late? Don’t you have morning classes too?”
“Couldn’t sleep, so I’m binge watching Netflix.” She turned her laptop towards me, which was halfway through an episode.
“Well, try and get some sleep. I’m heading back to the dorms.” I shouldered my bag and started to head for the exit.
“Be careful!”

Keep reading

So the moon was trying to kill me for some reason and after flying around and terrorizing me for a while she straight up just transfigured into Will Arnett with long hair. I threw a chair at him (we were in the street I don’t know where the fuck the chair came from) and then I ran back to my house….which had lockers in the kitchen? They were red. Anyway, guess who my new roommate is? Will Arnett, but now he’s blond. So I run to my neighbor’s place but I have to act like I’m not running away from him, and I get there and my neighbor is like “better watch out for that guy he kills people” but then Will Arnett comes over and he’s like “it’s okay” and I’m like “so you don’t want to kill me?” And he’s like “no just other people” and then he rips off my neighbor’s wig? And that’s the story of how I became Will Arnett/ the moon’s roommate.

anonymous asked:

My roommate and I are ace, and since our third roommate is moving out we were looking for another person. A girl on campus responded to our ad, and when we were interviewing her we asked her how she felt about the LGBT community (since, y'know, we're both part of it). And she said she was asexual and I didn't hear the second part (she's aro too) because I went "YOOOOOOO" and gave her a quick high five. So yeah, in about two week our apartment will be three aces =)

I love this story. It is good and pure and I’m excited for your ace adventures.

SINCERELY, YOUR NEW FWB

Originally posted by magiccastles

anon said : can you do a yugyeom enemy to fwb smut where the reader is a bit younger? thank you!

Summary : You say you can’t stand him. He tells you to take a seat then.

Warnings : language, smut

Word Count : 2.8k+


If Yugyeom interrupted the lecturer one more time, you were going to take the stapler off of the desk and staple his lips shut. Okay… not really. That was a really gross thought actually. You discreetly shook your head, trying to get the image the thought had conjured out of your mind.

You had been thrilled to be selected as a TA during your first year of college. The thrill had lessened slightly as the year had progressed. Honestly it wasn’t the job that had lessened the thrill. Everything would have been fine if Yugyeom wasn’t a student in the only class you were working as a TA in.

Yugyeom. College Junior. Majoring in dance. Minoring in music. A complete jerk.

It seemed that he’d made it his job to annoy every serious college student, go to every college party, and to have sex with every hot college girl. And one more thing… what was it… oh yeah! He’d made it his job to annoy the shit out of you.

Keep reading

Stories

never submitted anything to a blog like this before and it’s not going to be near as good as everyone else’s but I couldn’t get rid of the idea

Back home, you used to be known for storytelling. Not the wild and unbridled force of creation that builds and destroys entire worlds in moments, that fearsome superpower – though you have that too, but that is for you and you alone thus far, and you haven’t gotten the courage to share it – but rather the ability to retell a memory in the most entertaining way possible.

People seemed to like it when you took your memories, pieces of yourself, and told them as a story. Back home they did, at least.
At school, your roommate mutters something about not sharing so much personal information as she turns her socks inside out. In the classroom – where you can never quite remember what you’ve learned, but you always leave with more stories creeping about in your mind – occasionally students listen with a gaze just a little too sharp, the feeling of more eyes than you can see on your back.

But storytelling is in your blood, it’s part of who you are, and so you tell your stories. Happy ones, funny ones, tales of adventure and mischief that you thought were mundane until you grew older. Actually, compared to Elsewhere, they are mundane.

There’s one story you haven’t told yet, one that everyone in your family pretends not to know. It’s the tale of why you came to Elsewhere, the tale of the Thing you saw as a child, that took your cousin when the two of you played in a forest, and promised to return for you. Why you decided to go to college upstate and not attend the local university. You thought you were escaping the madness. (Sometimes you see the shadows at the corner of the stairwell and hear horns on the quad at night and wonder if you leapt from the frying pan to the fire)

It’s why you twine iron wire through your curls in decorative spires and carry salt packets sewn into your clothes, and carry old things from your grandmothers that you aren’t sure will help you (but grandmothers can be so very stubborn)

You’ve started to hear things on campus. Students who disappear and come back Different, if they come back at all, or other students who make the brave but foolish journey Underhill to rescue one of their own. Everything you’ve learned since coming here suggests that asking about it is pointless, if not outright dangerous, but at the same time you can’t help wondering if they’d know anything about the Thing that took your cousin. You know that one day you’ll find one of the students who made it There and Back Again, and when you do, you’ll tell your story.

Close to autumn you find yourself in one of the thin places on campus. It was an accident, you were simply too preoccupied with an upcoming exam to notice the air turn unseasonably warm and humid, and before you know it, you’ve walked three times the length of what the hall should’ve been, and each time you find yourself back at the lockers, the air is warmer, heavier, and the ground is softer. Somehow you instinctively understand that you must keep moving. To stop here would be a grave mistake. So you keep walking, and the air feels like the breath of something huge and moist, and you’re pretty sure there’s mud squelching beneath your feet now but you really don’t want to look.

It’s when you do look that the tiles, soft as mud and unyielding as stone, swallow your feet to the ankles and you are trapped. You curse your foolishness in three different languages – two of which are fictional and one of which was invented by you. This one feels stronger, and when you say “Flames take it!” you can almost feel a spark of phantom heat by your legs – and hear something laugh in the darkness.

“You are stuck,” it says.

You demand to be set free, even as you twine a strand of iron-wrapped around your hair and clutch your necklace – from your grandmother, a tiny bottle filled with salt and mustard seeds. You’re not sure if mustard seeds have any significance or if she just liked them – and try to look anywhere but shifting, oily shadows that smell of dust and moss. You suspect that demanding anything from one of Them will be a fruitless endeavor, but you’re frightened now and the liquid tile is sucking you down further. It’s up to your knees here. It occurs to you that you might die like this, that you might disappear just like your cousin and all those other students disappeared.

“What will you give me?” It asks.

Before you can think, you answer, “A story.”

There’s a bubbling silence before It makes a hiss that sounds too pleased to mean anything good. “Yes,” It says, “A story. But I’ve heard all yours. Make it one I haven’t heard before.”

This is tricky. The wrong story could mean death, and when It says It’s heard all your stories It probably wasn’t exaggeration. You could tell It one of your original tales, the stories of pirates and dragons and giants, but those feel too personal. There is too much of you in those stories, and that is your world, with your characters. You can’t help feeling a bit protective of them.
That just leaves The Story.

So you tell It a story about two children playing in a wood. About a thing like a skinless horse with the torso of a man grafted into its back. About fleeing in terror as the Thing chased you both through the trees, and your cousin’s squeal of fright as it grabbed him, just missing you as you splashed across the shallow creek. You go into greater detail than you ever have before, telling It things you didn’t even tell your family before they called the police.
You remember the color of the Thing’s rolling eyes and glistening muscle.
You remember the way its head seemed to wobble back and forth like it was attached to the wrong body.
You remember it promising that water would not always save you.
You remember knowing that running water might be the answer, even if you don’t have the question it goes to yet.
You didn’t want to tell this story, but you can’t stop the words now no matter how hard you try.

All is silent when you finish your tale, and for a moment you fear you were talking to the air. Then, with a slurp, the tiles spit you back out again and you’re standing on solid ground.

“That is a good story,” It says, “I think I’ll keep it.” with these cryptic words and directions to simply follow the hallway, he leaves you and you find yourself running all the way to the stairwell. You thank your lucky stars that you got out none the worse for wear and you are astonished that you managed it at all.

When you tell your roommate, she is concerned. “What did you give Them in exchange for Their help?” she asks you.

“Just a story,” You answer.

Which story? You have a million.”

“It was the one about-” and you stop. Not because you never decided whether or not to tell your roommate. Not because you’re preoccupied or distracted.
No.
The words wedge in your throat, sticking to the back of your tongue, coating your tonsils like thick dust. They won’t come out. For a moment you’re afraid that you might not be able to speak at all. So you try to tell a different story, and that comes out loud and clear. But when you try to explain again that you told the story of how Something took your cousin away – presumably Underhill if not someplace worse – your tongue seems to shrivel in your mouth and the words lodge in the soft parts of your throat like little needles.

That’s a good story. I think I’ll keep it.

It isn’t your story to tell anymore. For once, words do not obey you. Your roommate sees your rising panic, sees the tears welling up in your eyes, and takes pity on you.

“Tell me a different story,” she says, “A made-up one.”

She used to scold you about telling stories all the time, so at first you don’t understand what she’s doing. Then she asks, “What story didn’t you tell?”
The rather obvious wink when she says this gives you and idea.

Words are your tools and they always have been. Until today, they have always obeyed you. You know how to make a truth sound like a lie and a lie like truth. And so you carefully craft a lie so close to the truth, using characters so close to being you and your cousin, that you are sure your roommate understands.

Forever after this, you season your stories with lies in case you must trade them, so that the truth remains yours to tell. You learn say nearly anything and keep it just close enough to fact to fool someone.

You don’t realize that you’re learning to talk like Them until you find one trapped in the snare an upperclassman set near the library, all salt and iron. It yowls like a cat and screams like a child and its three hands scrabble for purchase. It wants out, you know this.
You cock your head and say, “What will you give me if I release you?

It’s only fair, you think. A story for a story.
You’re playing a dangerous game.

[x]

Listen.

At one point, Ronan probably starts to introduce himself as Parrish as a joke but then it becomes a Thing and eventually Adam just goes along with it so they joke about their daughter Opal and whatnot and basically all I’m saying is that that’s the story of the time Adam’s roommate thought he got married over winter break